


Watchdog of the Queen

by RedThreat



Series: Watchdog of the Queen series [1]
Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crime, F/M, Historical, Murder, Mystery, Romance, Very slow romance, eventually, it will come though, references everywhere
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2018-05-01 18:57:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 174,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5217023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedThreat/pseuds/RedThreat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he was the local man who ruins everything, he was just a Grim Reaper who had fallen in love with the wrong girl.<br/>Before she was a Watchdog lost in history, she was just a girl fighting for her heart and soul.<br/>Before all, they were just two wanderers crossing paths.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Countess, Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This is my very first fanfiction for "Black Butler" and on this website, so I hope that you will enjoy this story, following Cloudia Phantomhive, Ciel's grandmother! :)
> 
> But before you start reading this chapter, I want to say a few things:  
> 1\. I will use the spelling of "Cloudia" instead of "Claudia," because "Cloudia" is seemingly the canon/official spelling.  
> 2\. I personally completed the surname of "Cedric K. Ros-" to "Rossdale." It is not his canon surname.  
> 3\. Even though, Undertaker was already a deserted by the time this story starts (1847). However, in this story, Undertaker is still a Grim Reaper.  
> 4\. Undertaker is also Cedric K. Rossdale, even though this is not confirmed by now. (Or confirmed to be wrong.)  
> 5\. It's not clear if Cloudia really was the FIRST female Watchdog, but in this story, she is.  
> 6\. Also: Every chapter starts with an individual quote. However, it is not a quote taken from a book or movie etc. :) You will find out about the meaning of the "quotes" with the course of this series.  
> 7\. The summary is a reference to _Heartless_ by Marissa Meyer! (" _Long before she was the terror of Wonderland—the infamous Queen of Hearts—she was just a girl who wanted to fall in love._ ")
> 
> Okay, I guess, this was everything for now. I really hope you will enjoy this chapter! Have fun reading it and the rest of the story! :D

**_"T_ _o the last hour of my life, you cannot choose but remain part of my character, part of the little good in me, part of the evil_. _"_   **

** ‒ Charles Dickens, _Great Expectations_ **

* * *

 

_“Everything you know is a lie. The stories you've heard aren't real, the reports you've read are all fake. The truth was hidden behind rows and rows of never-ending lies a long time ago._

_“I will now tell you a story ‒ the genuine story.”_

 

* * *

_**INNER LONDON MURDERS ARC** _

* * *

_“And I am bored to death with it. Bored to death with this place, bored to death with my life, bored to death with myself.”_

– Charles Dickens, _Bleak House_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

_No matter how hard I tried, I was not able to properly recall the face of the previous Earl of Phantomhive._

_When I closed my eyes and tried to remember anything, I could only recall the powerful and triumphal feeling, that I could see everything and everyone when he had picked me up. I could still feel the wind against my cheeks when he carried me around, and the voices of him and his clients and partners when he had taken me with him to events._

_But no matter how long I stared at his portrait in the mansion, Simon Phantomhive’s face didn’t reappear in my memory._

_Almost thirteen years had passed since the butlers of King William IV confirmed his death, and told my mother that her beloved husband was no more._

_In thirteen years, many things had changed. Not only for me but for the whole kingdom._

_Because, while I had lost my father and my mother her husband, the King had lost its Watchdog who looked over the Underworld. And so, the Underworld had fallen into chaos for the next years_ _–_ _until the position as the Majesty’s Watchdog was finally filled again._

 

 

The hall was decorated with colourful, exotic flowers in exquisite and expensive porcelain vases. Men and women in elegant and beautiful dresses walked around the room, filling the hall with laughter and chatter. Butlers carried around fine appetisers and glasses filled with sparkling wine. The huge chandelier, which hung exactly in the middle of the room, filled the whole scenery in golden light.

 

 

_This atmosphere was far too cheerful._

_I walked around the hall, exchanging short greetings with people I didn’t know before he finally approached me._

 

 

“Am I to be mistaken, or did I just meet Lady Cloudia Phantomhive at a party?” the man said, bowing in front of her. She, however, didn’t even think about moving a muscle.

He smiled widely at her after he had straightened up again. “You look even lovelier than the last time I have had the pleasure to meet you, Mylady.”

“And you look exactly the same than the last time I have met you, Lord Parrish,” she said, allowing herself to smile mischievously.

He laughed. “As always, you are an enrichment for every party, Lady Phantomhive. How is your dear mother, the Countess of Phantomhive, doing?”

“She is doing quite well if you ignore the fact that she refuses to go out, or to speak to any new people.”

“Even after all those years, the Countess is still heartbroken due to the Earl’s death, as it seems. It is such a tragedy, Lady Cloudia.”

 

 

_Lord Ronan Parrish was the reason why I had come to this boring, dull party all the way from my comfortable, quiet and orderly mansion in the countryside._

 

 

“Speaking of the last Earl of Phantomhive,” Parrish continued. “How is the current one doing? I have heard that around five years ago, the title was finally passed down. However, even if so many years have passed, nobody has ever met the new Earl of Phantomhive.”

 

 

_My father had been the last Watchdog to King William IV. Three years after Simon Phantomhive’s death, the King had passed away, making his niece, Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent, to the current reigning Queen of the United Kingdom._

_Eight years after my father’s death, the very first Watchdog of Her Majesty the Queen had finally been decorated with the needed titles and arms._

_And the family burden which had been passed down along the noble title for generations._

_The current “Earl of Phantomhive” was supposedly my cousin – and my fiancé._

 

 

Her smile widened a bit. “He is doing quite well, Lord. But I am afraid that the Earl wants to stay in the background for the time being. He has spent his whole life in the background after all. And only because his predecessor died before having a male heir, he will not change his way of living.”

“I still hope that the Earl will eventually appear in public,” Parrish replied. “But how about me treating you to dance? The first one will start in the foreseeable future, and it would be an honour to me to be your partner, dear Lady Cloudia.”

Cloudia Phantomhive’s smile became even more mischievous when she spoke. “I would _love_ to, my dear Lord Parrish.”

 

***

 

“You are a fairly gifted dancer, Lady Cloudia,” Parrish told her after their dance had ended.

“You are not that bad yourself, Lord. Your footwork is exquisite,” she complimented him.

He laughed. “You are flattering me, Lady Cloudia.”

 

 

_I wasn’t lying – I found his footwork as exquisite as the appetisers given out at this party. Clearly, the man who dared to call himself a cook and prepared these abnormalities should be hanged immediately. I had to speak with the host, Baron Charles Worthington, about this when everything was over._

 

 

“Oh, I do not flatter you, Lord Parrish! I was just stating the obvious.” Cloudia put out her fan, which she had got by her cousin Constantia as a gift after she had visited Japan, and tried cooling herself down with it. “However, I have to admit that I have not danced for quite a while now, and I am fairly exhausted and heated up due to this instance. May you accompany me outside to get some fresh air?”

Parrish bowed in front of her. “With pleasure, Lady Cloudia.”

 

***

 

“I am sorry, my dear Lord, but I think that refreshing is better done in a place which is not crowded, unlike the balconies of Baron Worthington’s villa.”

“No, Lady Cloudia, I think your view is an interesting and rightful one.”

Cloudia blinked at him and smiled. “Oh, I thank you, Lord Parrish, even though you are being dragged out into the cold by me.”

“I have experienced far colder winters than this one, Lady Cloudia, so you do not have to apologise. Also, a nice walk has never killed a man.”

“You are right. A _nice_ walk has never killed anyone.”

 

 

_While we walked down the street, I had to listen to his boring chatter. He was speaking of his company all the time. But I had to play my role, so I stayed polite, smiled and laughed at the right times, even though I was scowling inside._

Tomorrow you’re back home again, and you can ignore all these strains in a foam bath _, I told myself like a mantra to stay sane._

_After a while, I stopped walking, and only a few seconds later, Parrish stopped too and turned around to face me._

_Oh, it was showtime._

 

 

“Is anything wrong, Lady Cloudia? Why did you...” His eyes widened. “What is the matter, Lady Cloudia?”

Cloudia wiped away her tears with the back of her hand. “I am sorry that you have to experience me in such a state, but I am afraid that I am not able to do anything against it.”

“Against what? What is wrong?” Parrish slowly walked towards her, one arm reaching out to her.

“Against my grief, Lord Parrish,” Cloudia answered with a sob. “My dear father used to take me on walks in the dead of night. Our walk reminded me of him, and now I cannot hold back my tears. My father would not have wanted me, his first and only child, to be such a weakling.”

He had finally reached her and put his hand on one of her shoulders. “That is not a reason to cry, Lady Cloudia! Your father would be proud of you if he knew what a fine, young woman you have beco...”

Before Parrish could divine anything, Cloudia had already pulled out the dagger which she always carried in the blink of an eye, and stabbed him with it. His eyes widened in shock when he looked down the handle sticking out of his chest and then looked back at Cloudia.

She met his eyes while her face showed clear disgust. “Lord Ronan Parrish, head of the Parrish Company which illegally employs children among a few adult workers. The company pays few to nothing to the children and lets them work all day under inhumane conditions. It was estimated that around five children die a day in the Parrish Company due to the lack of security, and the usage of dangerous, unauthorised machines.”

Parrish’s face became ashen, and a thin smile crawled on Cloudia’s lovely, doll-like face. “I’m afraid, you fool of a Lord, but at this point in time, no Earl of Phantomhive exists.” She put her mouth right next to his ear, so, even though his life was slowly leaving his body, he would be able to hear her clearly.

“Thus, I am not the Watchdog’s fiancée,” she whispered into his ear.

 

 

_All the previous Watchdogs had been males. But then my father had died without having a son._

_They say that for every rule there were exceptions._

_And I was the exception for this one._

 

 

“There is no such person as the son of the last Earl’s late younger brother; there is not even a late brother. I am the daughter of Lady Penelope Phantomhive, born Penelope Houghton, and Earl Simon Phantomhive, the previous Watchdog to the Royal family of the United Kingdom: Cloudia Phantomhive. The sole heir to the name of Phantomhive.”

Cloudia pulled herself away from Parrish, taking the dagger with her. Blood splattered all over his clothes when his wound widened. His hands, by which he had held Cloudia’s shoulders in a tight, mechanical grip a second ago, fell loose to his sides. The next moment, Parrish tumbled down onto the hard road made of cobblestone, painting it crimson red.

Cloudia hauled out a tissue and calmly began to clean the dagger’s blade while Parrish choked on his own blood. When she was done, she wrapped the blade in a towel and put it back into the pocket of her coat. Parrish lifted himself up a bit from the ground, looking at her with his disgusting face.

“L... Lady Cloudia...” he whimpered, spitting out blood.

She looked down at him, her large eyes shining darkly in the pale light of the moon. “That’s Cloudia Phantomhive, Countess of Phantomhive for you. Her Majesty the Queen Victoria’s Watchdog.”


	2. The Reaper, Encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you will enjoy reading this chapter! :) And thank you very much for your comments and kudos! :D

_“I can’t tell you why ‒ but on that day she had managed to bewitch a creature she knew nothing of.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

 

_I had watched them for quite a long time now because of my work._

_Every time, one of them was launched by the Royal family a lot of people died. People whose souls I had to collect._

_And eventually, they died too – mostly in a gruesome manner. Only a few of them had died peacefully at an old age. There had also been times when one had died only a few months after his decoration._

_But a case like this time had never occurred before. Because the past Watchdog’s of the Royal family, the past heads of the cursed Phantomhive family, had always been males._

_Therefore, I was particularly interested in this new one. In the very first female Watchdog in the long, bloody history of the United Kingdom. Also, she was already one of the Watchdogs with the highest body count – and she held this position for not even five years now._

_Almost every day, I was sent to collect the souls of the people she had killed – or would kill._

_Today it was the same._

 

 

He watched her from high above when Cloudia Phantomhive stabbed Ronan Parrish in the dead of night.

Like always, he was amused by the way she had lured her prey into her trap. She would play the lovely fiancée of a dangerous man who didn’t exist, the grieving daughter of a famous man and the caring one for her poor mother.

And when she had managed to trap her prey successfully, she would immediately let her facade fall and show her true face as the deadly Watchdog of the Queen.

In the last five years, Cloudia Phantomhive had played the same game over and over again – and to her own fortune, she had always been successful. The society only knew her facade, the person she had built on lies; and the Underworld she ruled over was as unknowing as its counterpart.

 

 

_She was like a rose whose immense beauty bewitched everyone. And you would only remember her thorns, which she had hidden so well behind her deadly spell, when there was already no way back anymore._

_She never showed mercy – never spared a life. This girl provided most of my work. This girl who could kill people so easily without hesitation._

_Without ever thinking about the value of a life._

 

 

“L... Lady Cloudia...” Parrish said with his last breath. Cloudia looked down at Parrish, and he thought that the pale moonlight made her look eerie.

“That’s Cloudia Phantomhive, Countess of Phantomhive for you. Her Majesty the Queen Victoria’s Watchdog.”

She buttoned down her coat while Parrish lay dead in front of her feet, his empty eyes staring at her. Cloudia had opened her coat and taken out the dagger so quickly that Lord Parrish hadn’t realised anything before it had been too late.

“I _liked_ this dress.” Cloudia sighed as she hid the blood stains on it with her coat. “Not even Lisa will be able to save it now.” She sighed again.

The dress had been so lovely with its tight bodice, short sleeves and an open but not revealing décolleté. The dress itself was white, but the dressmaker had sewn a transparent layer over it which was covered in lovely, tiny flowers. At the dress’s end, the flowers were larger. And now, ugly blood stains befouled this beauty.

 

 

What a pity _, I thought while grinning._

 

 

Like always, Cloudia would wait for her butler, Alfred Newman, to arrive, load the corpse on a carriage, and clean up the blood. It was always the same procedure. She never went out on a job without her butler nearby.

“What a mess,” Cloudia murmured to herself. “Now I will have to get a tailor to make me the same dress as a replacement for this one.”

“This is indeed a mess,” he agreed with her – and even from his place on one of the roofs, he could see her flinch and turn around, looking for a matching body for the voice which had just spoken.

“You always leave quite a mess, do you know that?” he continued, even though he shouldn’t. He should run away before Cloudia discovered him. But he _had_ already spoken, and she _had_ already heard him, so it wouldn’t matter anymore if he continued or not.

Cloudia looked around and, finally, she spotted him. Her large blue eyes widened when she stared up at him.

 

 

_She was like a deadly Snow White: Hair as dark as the feathers of ravens, and as dark as sin; skin as pale as snow; lips as red as blood – blood which wasn’t hers and painted her lovely clothing in dread._

_And in this night, Cloudia Phantomhive looked even more like an eerie Snow White: With the moonlight making her skin paler than usual and soaking her pretty blue eyes in silver._

_I wasn’t sure why I had decided to show me to her – or to even talk to her. No one should be able to see me, except, of course, I wanted to. But today I had lifted the “invisibility spell” from me to face this young Countess of the Underworld._

_For a long time now, I had grown sick of my occupation, feeling empty and bored while executing it. Every day for many, many years, I had followed the same old procedure. I lured for excitement, for something new, for something entertaining, but I had never done anything against it, pushing my desires back and continuing this life which couldn’t fill me anymore._

_And now I had shown myself to this Dark Queen. It could have been anyone, but of all people, I had chosen_ her _._

Her _, this girl, who couldn’t even understand what it meant to die. This girl who faced death without blinking an eye._

_The reason why, however, was even a mystery to me._

 

 

“Who are you? Tell me your name, and the reason why you are sitting on a roof and watching me!” Cloudia demanded, her eyes glaring at him.

 

 

_She was not afraid. I was sitting on a roof, and she could only guess how I had managed to get here – still, she did not display fear. Instead, she glared at me._

 

 

He smiled and jumped off the roof. Cloudia stepped back, staring at him. He bowed gracefully to her for a second, before standing up again and starting to laugh. “Well – I have never done something like that before. Bowing is a really funny thing to do, don’t you think, Countess?”

“I have asked you something, stranger,” Cloudia said harshly, eying him suspiciously.

 

 

I jumped off a roof. _What did I have to do to scare this woman? It would fairly be amusing to see her scared face. Definitely, it would make me laugh._

 

 

He grinned widely. “I’m sorry. I was just observing the mess you have done this time. You always kill your victims so cold-heartily, and every time the whole ground gets soaked in their blood. Also, you always ruin some nice clothing in the process. You may be a lady, Countess, but you’re a fairly messy one.” He chuckled at his own words.

She narrowed her eyes. “Who are you? Answer me! I won’t allow you to make a fool out of me!”

He laughed. “Why so serious, Countess? I didn’t do you any harm! Actually, I’m the one who cleans up your mess in a certain way.”

Cloudia lifted one of her elegantly swung eyebrows. “‘Clean up in a certain way’? Which way do you refer to, stranger?”

He giggled while covering his mouth with both his hands, which were hidden in his far too long sleeves. “Well, Countess, while I know you very well as you can see, you don’t know much of me. Honestly, you don’t know _anything_ about me. But that’s fine as you actually shouldn’t get to know me – not even now. But for you, little Countess, I will make an exception.”

Again, he bowed in front of her, before standing up with a giggle, his yellowish green eyes shining behind his glasses in the dark night.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Countess of Phantomhive – I am nothing else than a simple Grim Reaper collecting the souls of the fallen.”


	3. The Countess, Making Deals

_“If she could get her advances out of it, she loved making deals.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

 

As soon as the man had finished speaking, he started to laugh hysterically.

 

 

_Such a weird person._

 

 

Cloudia was staring at him in disbelief due to the words he had just spoken before bursting into laughter.

“‘Grim Reaper’?” she repeated sceptically in a slow manner. “The ones with the scythes?”

“Well... Lately, it has become quite popular for Grim Reapers to get a custom scythe which can be in the form of various things. Mostly, they pick special gardening tools,” he replied scarily seriously, and Cloudia sighed deeply.

“A _lunatic_ ,” she murmured. “I _really_ do not have any time to handle that kind of thing.” Cloudia turned around and was about to go and find Newman as soon as possible so that she could finally wrap up this case and return to her comfortable townhouse, when the man suddenly caught her by the arm.

“Where are you going?” he asked her, his green eyes shining behind his glasses.

 

 

_I didn’t know why, but these eyes... they seemed oddly familiar to me. As if I had seen such a pair of eyes before – a pair of eyes with a strange yellowish green colouring._

_I couldn’t properly define the odd feeling, which came over me when I looked into his eyes. But somehow, my head started to hurt because of it._

_Of course, I dissembled the slowly growing headache._

 

 

Cloudia glared at him.  “Why should I tell you? This conversation has already reached its conclusion. Go back to the asylum you’ve escaped from and have a nice day, stranger.” She wanted to free herself from his grip, but he held her tightly.

As the Watchdog, she had been trained in different martial arts and taught how to wield weapons. Therefore, while looking slim and fragile, Cloudia was quite strong for a woman and could even fight against a man taller than herself without many difficulties. However, she couldn’t free herself from the grip of this man. No matter how much power she put into her attempt to free herself, Cloudia just couldn’t move the arm he was holding.

 

_He’s ridiculously strong, although he looked like he would fall and break if the wind blew a bit too intensely._

 

 

“Let. Me. Go,” Cloudia hissed.

He giggled. “You should see your face – _all serious_.”

She sighed.

 

 

_Never in my life, I had met such an annoying man before._

 

 

“Whatever you want from me, tell it to me right now or just stay quiet and let me go,” Cloudia demanded.

“Well... you called me a ‘lunatic’ after I’ve told you what you wanted to know. I do not like it when other people call me names,” the man replied with an amused tone, which didn’t really fit together with the words he had just said.

“People who claim to be ‘Grim Reapers’ cannot be anything but lunatics. Now let me go, or I will not go easy on you.” Cloudia scowled at him.

He giggled again. “You always present yourself as omniscient, but in the end, you’re just like the others. _Unknowing_. But because you are such a funny person, Countess, let me give you a special service.”

He let go of her arm and stepped back in the blink of an eye. Before Cloudia could react, the man put out a gigantic scythe seemingly out of nowhere – a grin running all over his face.

“Well... even though more and more Reapers decide for a special custom-made Death Scythe, I stuck to the old-fashioned type,” the man told her with a wholehearted laugh.

“Judging from the expression on your face, Countess, I would guess that you are, at this very moment, considering to be a lunatic yourself.” He grinned widely.

 

 

_There he was standing – with a Death Scythe in his hands which was covered in bones like a present in ribbons._

_I couldn’t take off my eyes of this eerie beauty._

 

 

“So you have spoken the truth,” Cloudia slowly said so that she wouldn’t triple on her own words or even stutter. She never stuttered. Also, she never tripled. She was far too graceful and eloquent to allow such things to occur.

“Of course, I did,” the man, _the Grim Reaper_ , replied and put back the scythe from wherever he had taken it. “After all, I have no reason to lie to you.”

“But you also have no reason to tell me all these things, or even show yourself in front of me too,” she remarked, making him giggle again.

“You’re right, Countess. I have no reason at all.”

 

 

_I had no idea what I should think of this man – this Grim Reaper with the long silvery grey hair which he kept in a high ponytail, the chartreuse eyes behind his glasses, and the black clothes which were a bit too large for him. This giggling and laughing and grinning Grim Reaper._

_Wasn’t it ironic that Grim Reapers represented death itself, but the one I faced was gleaming with life?_

 

 

“Well...” Cloudia started, an idea manifesting in her mind. “As I know it... Grim Reapers possess some special kind of journal...”

“You’re right.” The Reaper sounded amused due to the fact that she knew that. “The _journal_ you mean is actually the _Death Book_. It contains the death dates of people. However, it only holds the death dates for _the next year_. It would be far too big and heavy otherwise. But, a book, containing all death dates of every living person and the dates of the already deceased ones, _does_ exist. This book, however, isn’t given out to regular Grim Reapers. It can be found in a highly classified section at our headquarters. Only authorised personnel is allowed to wander around this section.

“There are also different Death Books for various regions. The Welsh Reapers have different ones than the English. And even in-between England there are different Death Books, covering the ones who will pass away in a certain region in the following year,” he explained to her. She raised an eyebrow.

 

 

_Why exactly did he tell me all this? Wouldn’t it have been enough to say “The journals you mean are called ‘Death Books’ and contain the death dates of people”? Or did he fear that I would ask him all these things sooner or later, and only talked about this matter so extensively to avoid getting bombarded with questions?_

_He was indeed odd._

 

 

“So you’re telling me that the one you have is all about the dying people in London and surroundings?” Cloudia questioned in the end.

“Exactly. And most of the cases I have to investigate are in the book because of _you_ ,” the Grim Reaper pointed at her with his long index finger.

“As the Queen’s Watchdog, you leave quite a pile of bodies behind you, Countess. However, even if the book contains the _causes_ of people’s deaths, it doesn’t include the murderer, or even the location, or the _reason_ why they’ve died due to that cause. So, I have a rule: Always stick to the Countess first.” The Reaper chuckled.

Now, it was her turn to grin as her idea was beginning to get a shape.

“Well, Mr Grim Reaper,” Cloudia began. “When you have to follow or watch me anyway – why don’t you accompany me?”

He blinked at her in shock, which amused her because he had never displayed such an expression in front of her before.

“You could stay by my side while I do my work so that you can be certain that the people, whose souls you have to collect, will _really_ be my victims or not. It would make your job _a lot_ easier, don’t you agree with me on that?” she continued. The light illuminated her face when she put on a mischievous smile.

“Also, you could tell me the names of the ones who will die, making _my_ work easier too. We could help each other in an absolutely fantastic way.”

“I don’t think that it will work, Countess,” the Grim Reaper said, his face suddenly deadly serious. “Reapers aren’t allowed to interfere with life and death.”

“But you do _not_ interfere with life and death at all!” Cloudia replied. “You don’t have to save someone; you don’t have to kill someone. All you have to do is to collect souls. Therefore, you would just do what is expected of you anyway. _Collect souls_.

“And if you had truly followed me while I was executing my duty as the Queen’s Watchdog, you should be well aware of the fact that I would _never_ save any of my prey. If you agree on this deal, you would just tell me, if the name of my current suspect is listed in the book so I wouldn’t have to waste time on other possible suspects. Of course, I would still have to collect evidence which I could present the Queen. Then, I would kill the culprit, and you can collect their soul. I wouldn’t save him or her, you should know that, Mr Grim Reaper. So everything will be fine.

“You could help me with my work. I could help you with yours. And none of us would break any of the rules of the Grim Reapers. None of us would _ever_ interfere with the contents of the Death Book.”

She stepped closer to him. He was a bit over a head taller than she, but Cloudia still managed to look dignified while looking up at him to gaze directly into his face. “I may be wrong, but from what I have seen of you in the last few minutes, I would guess that you cherish a good laugh? Also, didn’t you say that the Death Books do not contain the reasons for people’s deaths? And wouldn’t it be _fun_ to _participate_ in my investigation rather than only observing it? You would even find out the reasons for their deaths.

“Another reason why a contract between us would be beneficial: I may be mistaken, but isn’t it part of a Grim Reaper’s work not only to _collect_ souls but to _judge_ them too? And wouldn’t it help you a lot to see for yourself what kind of person the one was whose soul you have to collect?”

Concluding, Cloudia gave him a wide grin.

The Grim Reaper was silent for a moment which genuinely surprised and pleased her at once. “I have a question,” he said after a while. “What if the name of one of your relatives appears in the book? Or of a friend?”

“I wouldn’t save them too,” Cloudia answered without hesitation, her voice steady and serious. “The death dates in your book seem quite definite to me so that I couldn’t do anything anyway. I see no reason to try something utterly hopeless or pointless. It would just waste time which I simply do not have.”

The Grim Reaper actually seemed to consider her suggestion, and Cloudia smiled even wider at this thought.

 

 

_How wonderful it would be if I had him by my side! Everything would be easier!_ And _I wouldn’t get bored while executing the Queen’s will as I would finally have someone to talk to during the investigations!_

_Also, I wondered, how much_ fun _would it be to extend my act on one more person? Fooling society even more?_

_Besides... whatever he had said, he_ had _to have a reason why he had shown himself in front of me._

_And I was curious to find out what this reason was._

 

 

“I agree on the deal,” the Reaper declared after a few moments of silence. Cloudia curtsied in front of him, her smile shining as bright as the full moon over their heads.

“Thank you. Then you are now my colleague, and I am yours. So, I guess that you could finally tell me your name, or do you prefer me calling you ‘Mr Grim Reaper’ until Doomsday knocks on the door? Or, perhaps, could all Reapers be nameless?” she wanted to know.

He looked away, the contours of his face were lit up by the silver light, making his somehow distressed facial expression even more obvious.

“My name is... Cedric K. Rossdale,” he answered her in a whisper.

Cloudia held out her hand with a wicked grin. “Very well. So the deal is done, Cedric K. Rossdale.”

Cedric took her gloved hand and smiled. “Very well, the deal is done, Cloudia Phantomhive.”


	4. The Countess, Fearsome

_“To make the deal complete, it was necessary to become someone else.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

 

_Originally, my plan had been to return to my lovely manor in the countryside after wrapping up the case with Ronan Parrish. But while I was having breakfast in the parlour, my butler, Alfred Newman, approached me with a silver tray which carried a single letter. Right after taking a glimpse at it, I knew that my stay in London would have to be expanded for an unknown amount of time._

_I took the letter from Newman and read it, sighing that I had been right like always, and Her Majesty hadn’t just sent me an amicable letter. Was asking for a day off too much? But, of course, I couldn’t decline a request by the Queen. However, she had written that the completion of this case wasn’t very urgent, so I decided after finishing breakfast that I would let it be at least for today and spend my time with something else._

 

 

“You are late,” Cloudia told him when he entered her private chambers through the balcony doors.

 

 

_Last night, I had made a deal with an actual Grim Reaper. He had told me of a way to contact him and given me a necklace with a skull as a pendant before Newman had finally arrived and we could dispose of Parrish’s corpse._

_And after having breakfast, I had clutched my hand around the petite pendant and pressed it, signalising the Reaper to come. Right afterwards, I had gone to my private chambers and waited for him._

 

 

“I had work to do, Countess,” Cedric Rossdale, the Grim Reaper with the long grey hair, explained and closed the balcony doors which she had left open for him, even though it was cold and icy outside.

“Still, this is no excuse for being _two hours_ late,” she replied and blinked to the big, heavy long case clock.

He covered his mouth with one of his overly-long sleeves and chuckled. “My, my, what a funny face you are making, Countess. Even though I want to see this face more often, I promise to reap the souls of the dead faster. I could even go and try convincing them to die faster. I could say something along the lines of ‘Come on, Anton! You can bleed out more quickly! You only have to have faith in yourself and your abilities!’”

Cedric sat down on one of the large, heavy armchairs, which were covered in dark green velvet and stood in front of the chimney. Cloudia had assigned Newman to lit up a fire before she had opened the balcony doors, so she wouldn’t freeze to death while waiting for Cedric. She laid down the book in her hands – _The Battle of Life: A Love Story_ – and looked at him.

“I hope you are aware of the reason why I summoned you here?”

“I bet that this has anything to do with our deal.”

“Exactly. A brain _does_ seem to be hiding inside that head of yours after all.” She leaned forward and smiled whimsically. “If you want to take part in my investigations, in my life, you have to accompany me everywhere.”

“Even to the bathroom?” he asked and grimaced. “I can really live without seeing you...”

“ _However_ ,” she continued, scowling at him, “because of my social status and the fact that I am a noblewoman, I can’t let you be seen with me in public. Not like you are right now at least. Therefore...” Cloudia’s smile widened, and she even closed her eyes and slightly tilted her head. “... today’s topic is to make you undergo a makeover and turn you into a fine British gentleman.”

 

***

 

“I hope that Grim Reapers get at least basic education?”

After Cedric had involuntarily agreed to do whatever she wished, Cloudia had started to gather some books from her various shelves. Most of her useful books were in the Phantomhive Manor and not in the townhouse, but the ones she had on-site would do the work just fine.

“Before I became a Grim Reaper I didn’t receive any education,” Cedric told her after a while, and his words caused her to stop and turn around to face him.

“You were something else before becoming a Grim Reaper?”

He nodded and Cloudia frowned. He avoided looking directly at her. “Grim Reapers aren’t _born_. We all were humans like you before we became Reapers.”

“That’s a fairly interesting piece of information,” Cloudia meant. “And how do humans become Grim Reapers?”

Cedric hesitated for only a blink of an eye, but she still noticed it. “They have to die first,” he answered her.

“Does that mean that _every_ human becomes a Reaper after dying?”

He was strangely silent for a moment. “Only humans who died in a certain way.”

Even though Cloudia wanted to know _how exactly_ you had to die to become a Grim Reaper, she knew that he didn’t like talking about this subject. And because she didn’t want to displease him at this early stage of their cooperation, she let it go for the time being.

 

 

_I_ would _find out how Grim Reapers came into existence. I just needed to wait for the perfect moment to get this piece of information out of Cedric._

_I couldn’t await it._

 

 

“After being reborn, the Grim Reaper Dispatch taught me how to write and read among other things,” Cedric continued while gazing directly into the fire in the chimney. “A lot of people who are reborn as Reapers cannot read because of their past, because they, for example, lived in great poverty as humans, so they had to teach us the basics. A Grim Reaper, who isn’t even able to read a Death Book, would be useless after all.”

“So you can read and write. What else have they taught you?” Cloudia questioned him further. It was quite interesting to get to know more about the society of Grim Reapers.

“Maths. History. Geography. Foreign languages. Dead, ancient languages. Science. Everything human children learn at school.” Cedric suddenly chuckled and stopped being serious and started being Cedric again.

“Come to think of it – in the last five years in which I’ve followed you, I never saw you sitting in class and learning with other children your age. Don’t you go to school, Countess? You’re just a kid after all.” He giggled. “Kids should be in school and not murdering people.”

Cloudia scowled at him, and he looked up at her, the fire was reflected in his glasses.

“Male Phantomhives attend Weston College,” she informed him. “It’s a prestigious boarding school in the area around London which is only for boys. Female Phantomhives are either home-schooled or sent to Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies. Even if I am the current family head, I cannot attend Weston College like my predecessors as I am a girl and not willing to play being a boy for seven years while going through puberty and sharing a room with other boys. Therefore, I should actually go and study at Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies. But because it’s also a boarding school and too far away from my manor to go there and come back home every day, I cannot attend this school either. Or any other prestigious school for girls as they are all boarding schools. After all, my mother isn’t able to lead the household in her current condition. Thus I cannot leave her and the manor alone. Therefore, I am home-schooled.”

Laughing like a lunatic, Cedric fell from the armchair and onto Cloudia’s lovely Chinese carpet.

“ _Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies_! I can’t hold it! That’s too much! Hahaha!”

She sighed.

 

 

_If he weren’t helpful in any way, I would have shot him by now and hung him over my chimney, before continuing to read_ The Battle of Life: A Love Story _while drinking Fortnum & Mason tea._

 

 

“Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies! What a _horrible_ name! Bwahahaha!”

Cloudia kicked Cedric and sent him flying towards the armchair’s heavy legs.

“Stop this nonsense,” she ordered him while looking down at him. He was lying all messily in his large black clothes in front of her feet and blinking up at her. His glasses were inclined on his nose.

“My, my, Countess, don’t you think that the name of this school is nothing but _hilarious_? _Miss Peregrine’s School for Fine Ladies_! _What_ a joke!”

Cedric continued to roll over the expensive carpet, and Cloudia was reminded why she had thought of him as a maniac upon their first meeting.

 

 

_Actually, the name_ was _hilarious as it was utterly ridiculous. I couldn’t believe that the girls who were born into the Phantomhive family line had to attend a school with such a name. But, of course, even though it was honestly funny, we,_ I _, didn’t have any time for this kind of nonsense._

 

 

_“_ _Snitchey and Craggs had each, in private life as in professional existence, a partner of his own. Snitchey and Craggs were the best friends in the world, and had a real confidence in one another; but Mrs Snitchey, by a dispensation not uncommon in the affairs of life, was on principle suspicious of Mr Craggs; and Mrs Craggs was on principle suspicious of Mr Snitchey._ _”_

Because Cedric was still laughing on the floor and seemingly didn’t intend to stop his unutterable behaviour in the foreseeable future, Cloudia had decided to spend the time until he would calm down in the best possible way: with continuing to read _The Battle of Life: A Love Story._

_“‘Your Snitcheys indeed,’_ _the latter lady would observe, sometimes, to Mr Craggs; using that imaginative plural as if in disparagement of an objectionable pair of pantaloons, or other articles not possessed of a singular number;_ _‘I don't see what you want with your Snitcheys, for my part. You trust a great deal too much to your Snitcheys, I think, and I hope you may never find my words come true.’_ _While Mrs Snitchey would observe to Mr Snitchey, of Craggs,_ _‘that if ever he was led away by man he was led away by that man, and that if ever she read a double purpose in a mortal eye, she read that purpose in Craggs’ eye.’”_

She had just finished page 19 and started page 20. While waiting for Cedric to arrive, Cloudia had read and finished _The Chimes_ , another novella by Charles Dickens, but this time from 1844. But because he had arrived when she had just read the very first sentence of _The Battle of Life: A Love Story_ ( _“Once upon a time, it matters little when, and in stalwart England, it matters little where, a fierce battle was fought.”_ ), she hadn’t arrived that far in the story. Also, although she had resumed reading after it had become clear that Cedric would not stop laughing soon, Cloudia didn’t get very far. After all, it was fairly hard to read while someone was rolling on the floor and laughing like a psychologically unstable person – and this directly in front of your own feet. After a few hours Cedric, finally, calmed down.

“By the way, what are you reading, Countess?” he wanted to know and sat himself up.

“A Dickens novella,” Cloudia told him, put a bookmark, which her cousin Cathleen had made her when they had been little children, in-between the pages and laid the book down on a side table made of dark wood.

“I hope we can finally resume our lesson? We lost plenty of time, and we have a lot of work to do.”

 

 

_Of all the Grim Reapers I could have encountered, it had to be the one who would burst into laughter because of even the tiniest of things._

_Verily, I was an unlucky young lady. But as I had proposed the deal, I had to endure it._

_Also, I was the Countess of Phantomhive – a laughing Grim Reaper should not be able to drive me crazy._

 

 

“As putting you on a test to clarify your state of knowledge would swallow up a lot of time, which we simply do not have, we skip it and go directly to manners and etiquette.”

Cloudia signalised Cedric with a hand wave to sit down at her work table, while she put out some crockery and cutlery, which she had borrowed from the kitchen before Cedric’s arrival, and lined them up neatly on the table in front of him.

“It is quite impossible to avoid dinner or tea parties when you are my associate,” Cloudia said. “So you have to be aware and able to implement the rules and manners for meals. Or don’t Grim Reapers have to eat?”

“We have to,” Cedric informed her, eying the strange set-up suspiciously. “Grim Reapers have to eat, sleep, use bathrooms... We are basically like normal humans. Except that we are immortal and have enhanced speed, power and endurance.”

“That’s wonderful. Then you don’t have to learn how to _pretend_ that you’re eating.” Cloudia picked up the spoon on the far right side and smiled broadly. “Let’s get started. Silverware is to be used from the outside in, but first of all, I want you to become familiar with the individual parts of the basic table set. This, for example, is a soup spoon...”

 

 

_After teaching him the names of all elements of the table set, how to use them properly and how to actually eat effectively with this knowledge, I continued to teach him the rules of picking up food and everything else Cedric needed to know about formal dining._

_Then, I worked on his way of walking. He walked without grace or at least a straight back. I piled the books I had taken from my shelves earlier on Cedric’s head and amused myself with his failure to keep them in place. After he had finally managed to walk properly – unbelievable that he couldn’t even do that! – I let him sit down on the armchair again as we now had to discuss other important aspects._

 

 

“Your clothes,” Cloudia started without making a friendly, appeasing introduction.

“What’s with my clothes?”

“Have you never realised that they are _far too big_ for you? You’re basically a blade of grass whereupon a towel was thrown. I hope you _never_ thought, that you could accompany me to social events and gatherings of nobility with these monstrosities you call clothing.”

Cedric grinned impishly. “Then I will have to lie.”

“You are a rather painful creature, aren’t you, Cedric Rossdale?”

“You are a rather stern and serious being, aren’t you, Cloudia Phantomhive?” His grin widened. “I hope _you_ know that I don’t have any other clothing which doesn’t look like the outfit I wear today.”

“Didn’t you wear that yesterday already?”

Cedric held his belly in laughter. “You’re so _hilarious_ , Countess! Even though you seem to be a sadist with making me remember all these spoon names and letting me balance all these heavy books, I think I made the right choice in agreeing to your deal. You _frequently_ give me a reason to laugh! _Of course_ , I didn’t wear this robe yesterday! It possesses _a totally different_ shade of black than the one I wore yesterday! That you don’t even know _that_ , Countess! I’m disappointed! Guehehe.”

Cloudia sighed.

 

 

_I was Cloudia Phantomhive, the Countess of Phantomhive. I. Would. Not. Turn. Mad. Because. Of. This. Laughing. Maniac._

 

 

“Very well. So you do not have any more passable clothing as it seems,” Cloudia said while Cedric whipped away some tears of laughter.

“I hope you don’t suggest to take me shopping. I’m not very fond of shopping.”

“Of course, we won’t do it _today_ as we simply do not have any time for it. But we _have_ to do it in the foreseeable future, or all this won’t go anywhere.”

“I wonder why none of your servants has run away by now. You’re quite a slave driver and sadist, Countess. Also, I hope you’re aware that I can break our deal every time.”

Cloudia leaned forward to him, a wicked smile all over her face. “You agreed to the deal, knowing _very_ well who I am. You followed me in the past five years. Therefore, you’re aware of my social position. I am not an orphan from the streets or someone from the lower classes. I am the Watchdog of the Queen. I am a Countess. I am of _nobility_. And nobles are very, _very_ fond of social gatherings. And because I am a noblewoman, I am _obligated_ to attend some of these gatherings, although I’m not very pleased about it.

“Our deal contained you accompanying me during my investigations. And if my investigation leads me to such a gathering, you _have_ to bring a certain degree of decency, manners and grace along. Also, I _cannot_ walk around the streets with a man who wears sack-like clothes and doesn’t even know the basics of the fine etiquette. Therefore, I cannot investigate with someone like that by my side. It would damage my reputation. It would ruin the facade I had built up over the past years. It would hinder my investigations.

“This deal is a deal to _help_ and not to ruin each other! You knew absolutely well what would await you if you took the contract – and you still did it. So just stick to the conditions of our bargain.”

Her smile grew wider.

“I don’t know why you agreed on my deal as you are a supernatural creature after all. But I know that you _certainly_ had a reason. And whatever this reason was and still is, it has to be something so big, so important to you that you simply will not end our bargain right now. After all, this reason lets you make a deal with me – a mere human, the head of the Phantomhives.

“So, if you want, if you _dare_ , to threaten me again, please do so in a way which builds up on a less obvious lie. If you truly want to work with me, you have to become sneakier.

“And now – let’s continue, Grim Reaper.”

 

***

 

“I know that you dress up like a man on occasions – but why exactly do you possess clothes for males which are too big for you?”

 

 

_I had given Cedric an outfit of mine I thought could fit him. It wasn’t the newest piece of clothing, but I had only worn it once, so it was still in a formidable state, and due to its fine fabrication and colour scheme absolutely acceptable to wear nowadays._

_And, naturally, I had been right: Cedric fit perfectly into the clothes as if they had been tailored just for him._

 

 

“It’s an old story,” Cloudia answered and watched Cedric how he gazed at himself in the mirror as if he was looking at someone entirely different.

“One year ago, I received a request from the Queen to investigate a certain person. After I had found out that he was smuggling opium, I had to eliminate him and his supporters. It wasn’t a difficult thing to do. But right before I could eliminate the last of them, he pushed me into the sea – only to be shot in the face the moment afterwards. I had to climb out of the water. Newman was waiting for my signal to come – I normally use a flare gun for that –, but I had lost said flare gun in the water and Newman wasn’t nearby, so I would have caught a cold by the time I reached his waiting point. It was November and London is a bit cold the whole year anyway.

“Fortunately, I came across a little tailoring. I broke into the shop and changed into some dry clothes. But because I was in a hurry, I just took clothes which fit together and didn’t check their sizes. Nobody should catch me after all; also I had to go to Newman as fast as I could, or someone could have found the ship with the opium on it and run away with it or something like that.  I disposed my own attire and went to see Newman so that he could drive me to Scotland Yard.”

Cedric chuckled. “My, my, you gave me a stolen outfit!”

“But it fits you, and you do not look particularly horrible in it, so you can use it until we have time to get you some more clothes. You need a _lot_ of attire if you’re with me. Also, I left money in the tailor’s shop for the clothes back then.”

Cloudia rose from her emerald-green armchair and walked towards Cedric. She touched his hair. “We need to comb it. Have you ever thought about cutting it shorter?”

If she let her black hair, which was usually braided to a wreath at the back of her head, fall loose, it would be around as long as his.

He firmly shook his head. “No,” he answered. “I like it as it is right now.”

She nodded. “Then you have to comb it neatly and arrange it into a ponytail with a ribbon which you tie into a bow. You will look classier like that. It’s also good that you have black glasses with a thin frame. They will harmonise nicely with all colours, so we don’t have to worry about that.

“Now please sit down again. Before Newman comes and tells me that dinner is ready, we have to discuss a few other things.”

 

***

 

They sat down in front of the chimney again. The fire inside was still dancing and trying to escape from its prison made of stone. It had shrunken a while ago, but Cedric had lit it up again, so the fire could continue its struggle.

“We need a new name for you,” Cloudia said straightforward. “A new identity. If you have already lived once under the name of Cedric Rossdale, you could be tracked by my enemies and some nasty nobles who become suspicious of you. It would cause too much trouble if anybody found out that you actually _died_ once. Also, if you take upon a new identity, it’s easier for you to get accepted by the nobles. We could come up with a fake title, a fake background and lineage for you, and say that you came from far away and didn’t inherit the title until a while ago. They will believe that, and _if_ they try to track you down under this false name, they will only find the lies we have positioned in front of their feet. Like that, we wouldn’t have to rewrite the history of Cedric Rossdale, but to create something entirely new. And this would certainly be easier.

“Don’t you agree, my dear Undertaker?”

Cedric frowned. “‘Undertaker’?”

She shrugged. “Aren’t you one?”

“I’m a _Grim Reaper_ , Countess. I’m not an Undertaker at all.”

“But don’t you think that Grim Reapers and undertakers are quite similar? The work of both starts when someone dies after all. And both hold the responsibility to bring a living being to a proper and peaceful rest. Another similarity is the fact that both get to work because of _me_. Also, I think the designation ‘Undertaker’ suits you quite well, doesn’t it?”

Cedric leaned back. In his new attire – the dark trousers, the polished black boots, the starched white shirt and the dark blue waistcoat – he actually looked _good_. Finally, Cloudia was able to see his figure which was so, _so_ thin and fragile-looking. But because he had been able to lift a huge scythe and she hadn’t been able to free herself from his grip yesterday, and because he had told her that Reapers were physically stronger than humans, his outer appearance was nothing more than deceptive. And you had to be deceptive to survive the life of a Phantomhive.

“So – how should we name you? What title should we grant you, Undertaker?”

 

 

_I didn’t like calling him “Grim Reaper” at all. But if he just called me “Countess,” I guess “Undertaker” should work just fine for him. Also, I liked the sound of it._ Undertaker _._

 

 

Cloudia tilted her head, an idea appearing in her mind. “What’s your middle name, by the way? I know it starts with a ‘K,’ but I don’t know the full name.”

“It’s ‘Kristopher,’,” Cedric told her, and she smiled.

“Then we have a first name for you, Kristopher...” She thought for a moment. “ _... Underwood_.”

He frowned. “‘Underwood’?”

“It’s the most similar name I could think of to ‘Undertaker,’ and I think that both names fit perfectly together. _Kristopher Underwood_. It sounds like the name of someone important, but it’s not too extravagant simultaneously. It’s _perfect_ , don’t you think, Undertaker?”

Cedric gazed at Cloudia and folded his arms in front of his chest. “I guess it works,” he said after a while. Then, he started to giggle.

“You’re someone who has to plan everything frantically in detail, aren’t you, Countess? Manners, clothes, name. You’re just hilarious.” More giggling.

Cloudia ignored his remark. “Fantastic. And now, a title! What title of nobility do you want to have?”

“ _Viscount_ Kristopher Underwood,” Cedric tried. “ _Marquess_ Kristopher Underwood. _Baron_ Kristopher Underwood. Hm...” He giggled and covered his mouth while doing so. However, this time, he couldn’t do it with his sleeve and had to use his hand.

“ _Duke_ Kristopher Underwood sounds quite good.”

 

 

_Probably, he just wanted to suit a noble rank above mine._

 

 

“Very well,” Cloudia said. “This is settled then too. I will work on the rest.” She stood up and went to her desk. She opened one of the drawers and took out a letter. The red wax signet had already been broken. Cloudia handed the letter over to Cedric who took it with a raised eyebrow.

“The last topic for today: Queen Victoria gave us our first assignment as a team today. We will start investigating tomorrow, so please, do not be late.”


	5. The Countess, Scary

_“To scare people was part of her job.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

 

“According to an informant of mine, Dempsey Morton, the sixth Duke of Maverick, will appear at an exclusive party tomorrow evening. Only guests can enter, and the number of invitations is limited to fifty.”

 

 

_When I had called Cedric this morning through the skull necklace, he had arrived by the time I had finished lunch. We had gathered in my private chambers, and he had changed into the clothes which I had given him yesterday. I had also managed to get a coat for him. After changing clothes, Cedric had gone to Hyde Park where we would meet officially. I had ordered Newman to prepare a carriage and take me to Hyde Park as I had an appointment with someone there._

_We had picked up Cedric in Hyde Park – or “Duke Kristopher Underwood,” the 46th Duke of the famous Underwood family line who had spent his entire life in America before inheriting the title from his uncle, the 45th Duke Wallace Underwood – who had died childless and alone in his castle, which was cut off from the outside world and located somewhere in the Highlands of Scotland –, and decided to move to England where his family originated from._

_Now we were sitting inside the carriage while I instructed Cedric, and Newman brought us to a tailoring where we could get a proper outfit for “Kristopher Underwood.”_

 

 

“And who is this informant if I may ask, Countess?”

Cedric, who looked so different in his new attire, sat opposite from Cloudia who wore a fine dark green dress which looked like the tailor had smashed thousands of emeralds and turned them into fabric.

“Someone from my circle of ‘Aristocrats of Evil.’ Every Watchdog has them. We pick them ourselves; and, of course, we only pick qualified people – which means people who are useful to us and our work. Some Watchdogs had quite a lot of Aristocrats of Evil, so I’m a fairly modest one as I only have three. But because you’re now one of them, I have four which is still quite modest. If we have time, and I’m back at my manor, I will introduce you to them and make our cooperation official,” Cloudia told him and adjusted her hat.

“And did this informant get any invitations for us? You said that we couldn’t enter if we don’t have one after all,” Cedric pointed out.

“She didn’t have to.” Cloudia looked out of the carriage’s window. The sky above London was grey as the streets and houses, and she wished that she was home in the countryside. She didn’t like the city. She didn’t like crowds. She preferred being in the gigantic library of Phantomhive Manor all on her own.

“To our fortune, Undertaker, I know the person who caters the party. He is of nobility but likes having only a few guests attending his parties. Also, he is very fond of order, so he only gives away invitations to people, who didn’t cause any trouble at social gatherings in the past months. And even though he had already given out all fifty invitations, he was willing to give out two more.”

“And why should he do that?” Cedric wanted to know.

Cloudia kept gazing out of the window. The streets were passing by with the inhabitants of this town wandering them. She was glad that no one who knew her was there right now and could annihilate her perfect time plan, because some people who, if they saw her, would go and try stopping the carriage to talk to her.

 

 

_I had built up the facade of a perfect “soon-to-be” Countess, of an exemplary member of the upper classes and nobility. Many people loved me; many people wanted me to attend their gatherings. And even though I loved it that my facade was working and didn’t crumble, I hated all the attention and “love” I received because of it._

 

 

“Because he’s in love with me,” Cloudia answered dryly and didn’t take off her gaze from the window. Cedric started to laugh, even though she had told him that he should behave and avoid laughing or giggling at everything when they were out together.

“ _An admirer_! I can’t believe that someone like you has admirers!” He chuckled.

“My friendly lady act is far too good,” she mumbled and bit her lip.

He whipped away some tears of laughter. “I guess he must be really foolish to be in love with you, although you’re officially engaged. He can’t know that the ‘Earl of Phantomhive’ is just a fairy tale after all.”

“Surely he doesn’t know that. Still, he tries to marry me. I admire his persistence as much as I despise it. At least I can get my advances out of it.”

Cedric chuckled. “I wonder if anybody who knew your true nature would fall for you.”

She turned back her gaze at him and smiled wickedly, tilting her head a bit. “And what is my true nature?”

 

***

 

_We arrived at the tailoring, and I ordered the tailor to make Cedric a lot of clothes, telling them that he had no sense of style, and therefore needed the help of an old friend – my gracefulness – for picking his attire. While we were there, I had also ordered a dress which could replace the one which had fallen on the battlefield yesterday._

_Later on, we separated, but not before I gave him the instruction to retrieve his outfit for the party tomorrow afternoon, and meet me at Hyde Park an hour before the party started._

 

 

“I cannot believe that you have let a lady wait,” Cloudia scolded him when Cedric arrived late by half an hour. The sky above them was dark with only a few stars illuminating it. It was cold, and she wore a thick coat which fit perfectly together with her dress. Newman stood by the carriage and watched over her. Even though they stood quite a lot of metres apart, if anybody tried attacking Cloudia now, Newman would arrive at her side before the attacker could lay the tip of their finger on her. Newman was the Phantomhive family butler after all.

“A fellow Reaper died this morning, and his shift had to be divided to other Grim Reapers, extending their work,” Cedric told her.

She stared at him. “You can _die_?”

He nodded. “People think we can’t because we already died once, but they’re wrong. We do not get killed as easily as humans, but we _can_ get killed.”

Cloudia was silent for a moment. “Nevertheless, you’re late. At least, you had a good excuse and managed to get dressed. And now, come. We will drive around in the carriage for a bit and discuss today’s schedule again. Then we will go to the party.”

She turned around, and he silently followed her to the carriage where Newman waited in his eerie silence.

 

***

 

“The Duke of Maverick, Dempsey Morton, will definitely come today,” Cloudia said when they were seated inside the carriage, and Newman had already started to drive it along the streets of London.

“I asked my informant once again today just after tea time. She confirmed that he will definitely attend this party.”

“And he will die today,” Cedric added, and she nodded.

 

 

_I had ordered Cedric yesterday to go through his book and search for Duke Maverick’s name. It was a relief that Dempsey Morton’s death was dated for today. If it hadn’t been like that, I would have had to cancel everything and start anew – something which was just too nerve-wracking for me right now._

 

 

“Exactly. Dempsey Morton will die today...”

“... at 23.56 due to loss of blood...”

“... because _I_ will murder him.” Cloudia folded her gloved hands over her lap. “It’s good to have a guarantee that he’s indeed the right one. However, I think that he will not be the only one who will die by my hand today.”

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I hold the suspicion that Dempsey Morton is only attending this gathering to meet someone. He was never someone who liked going to such events. Actually, he always says he comes but doesn’t show up in the end because ‘something hindered him.’ A sudden illness, the death of a relative... It’s quite unusual for him to actually _attend_ a party. Dempsey’s even more sneaky than me in this aspect. Because of that, I think that he has to have a reason to come to this gathering. Otherwise, he would never go there and risk getting caught or even killed.”

“Come to think of it... I believe you forgot to tell me _why exactly_ the Queen sent you to hunt him down,” Cedric said.

Cloudia tilted her head. “Oh, right. Normally, I always tell my victims what they have done before I murder them gracefully. I thought it would be fine for you if you found it out then.”

He scowled at her. “I would prefer it if you told it to me _before_ the mission officially starts.”

She shrugged. “Then you should have told me that. I’m not able to read people’s minds after all.” She unfolded her hands and took the hat from her head, placing it on her lap.

“Lately, several people were murdered in Westminster. The murders didn’t follow a pattern and the victims didn’t have any connection. Dempsey Morton, almost like ‘your dear uncle’ Wallace Underwood, lives isolated in his mansion somewhere in the countryside – with only his elderly butler as a companion. He doesn’t go out often as I have already told you. One day, his niece, Rebecca Jones, became worried because Dempsey hadn’t written any letter to his family for a while now. Even if he lived in isolation, he would always write letters to his sister and her family. So Miss Jones went to see him.

“Rebecca Jones found her uncle half-dead in his bedroom. Soon afterwards, Dempsey was brought to a hospital. However, he escaped a few days later and murdered his doctor and stole his documents. This circumstance was kept as a secret to the public because Miss Jones and her family didn’t want anybody to know about Dempsey’s actions. Scotland Yard secretly investigated this case, and soon afterwards, the Westminster murders started.

“Various witnesses reported that they had seen ‘an old man in a white hospital gown’ at the crime scenes. A long time has passed since Dempsey’s disappearance, and the start of the murders and Scotland Yard still couldn’t find him. Therefore, Queen Victoria commanded me to continue the investigation and bring it to an end as soon as possible before Dempsey Morton could murder more people as he apparently started to expand his ‘territory’ to Camden and Islington.

“Miss Jones and her parents still want to cover everything up and tell everyone that Dempsey is still inside his mansion in the countryside so that the public doesn’t find out about the connection between him and the recent murders. Because of that, Baron Milton Salisbury, our host for today, who has hoped that Dempsey wouldn’t come under any circumstances, invited the Duke of Maverick in the first place. For some unknown reasons, Dempsey even _received_ the invitation and could give Milton an answer. Miss Jones and her family live in Brighton and have no idea that Dempsey will be attending this party today. Also, Dempsey’s invitation couldn’t have reached his mansion because there are Scotland Yard officers stationed there until the completion of this case so that they could catch Dempsey if he tried to go back home. And if the invitation had reached Dempsey’s mansion, the officers would have known it, and Miss Jones and her parents too – and Dempsey wouldn’t attend Milton’s party.

“Therefore, someone else had to intercept the invitation and give it to Dempsey. And I think this ‘someone’ will be part of the reason why Dempsey actually wants to attend this party.”

Cedric frowned. “So we are going to go to a party with a mass murderer? And no one but us will know that?”

Cloudia lifted a hand in appeasement. “Stay calm. You and your ridiculously big scythe will definitely scare him so that nothing will happen to you. Also, I have managed to get some officers from Scotland Yard to watch over Milton’s villa. Newman will be with them, and he knows my signal if the situation is escalating and I need his help. Although I’m nonetheless a skilled fighter, I cannot fight every match alone – and more importantly, I simply cannot protect Milton’s guests while hunting down Dempsey. I have no idea what this maniac is planning, but it can’t be anything good.”

“And how exactly did your informant find out that Dempsey will be there if Dempsey is _somewhere_ in London and even the police can’t find him?”

Cloudia blinked at him in boredom. “Scotland Yard wanders in the light, but I control the Underworld and darkness. You’re still a newbie, Undertaker. You need to learn more. I will show you how to wander the path of darkness without having to tremble, Undertaker. The path of darkness you have entered when you agreed to my deal. And now – that was enough talking. We have arrived. Let the show begin.”

 

***

 

“Lady Cloudia!”

 

 

_Milton Salisbury – twenty-four years old, tall with blond hair and hazel eyes. His father had passed away a little over a year ago, and he was still insecure about the new position he held now. He was kind-hearted and naive and tried asking for my hand in marriage ever since we had met at a reception by my aunt Felicity one year ago. The fact that I was “engaged” didn’t seem to mind him at all._

 

 

With a smile on his goodhearted, friendly face, Baron Milton Salisbury approached Cloudia and Cedric. He hadn’t run but walked towards them in a dignified but fast pace. His butler, Abraham Wentworth, had followed his master with a decent distance.

Milton wore an elegant dark green suit which harmonised perfectly with the green of his eyes. He always looked insecure and lost, but the moment he saw Cloudia, this character trait of him seemed to vanish and let him shine in all his glory.

Milton was in love with her – a fact which was more than just obvious.

“Lady Cloudia Phantomhive,” Milton Salisbury said and bowed in front of her. “It’s an honour for me that you were willing to attend my simple party.”

Cloudia smiled. “Don’t say something like that, Baron. I’m sure it will be a lovely party. May I acquaint you with my company?” She looked at Cedric. “This is Kristopher Underwood, the 46th Duke of Underwood. He lived in America for his entire life and moved to England just a few weeks ago. He’s quite unknowing in the whole concept of the noble society, so I thought that it would be good to take him with me.”

Cedric bowed like he had been taught. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Baron Salisbury. Lady Cloudia told me one or two things about you before we arrived.”

 

 

_I was sure that Cedric wanted to laugh quite badly at this very moment._

 

 

Milton’s smile widened. “I wonder what Lady Cloudia has said.”

“Only good things – don’t worry about that.”

He laughed genuinely. “I hope that you will enjoy my little party! I’m also quite new in the society of nobles, so you won’t be the only one who will feel lost on occasions, Duke Underwood! But enough of the talk! It’s freezing, and it’s unheard that I let you stay outside and don’t let you in. Wentworth! Please take the lady’s and the gentleman’s coats and bring them to the cloakroom! Great thanks, my friend.”

Milton offered Cloudia his hand after Wentworth had silently taken her coat. “May I take your hand and escort you inside, Lady Cloudia?” he asked shyly, a faint blush gleaming over his cheeks.

Cloudia looked over her shoulder at Cedric, who covered his mouth with his gloved hand and tried not to laugh before she turned back to Milton, smiled sweetly and took his hand.

“You may, Baron.”

 

 

_Something I liked about Milton: Even though he was quite rich, he never showed off his wealth. Of course, he lived in a beautiful villa and had a little manor in the countryside, but these were things which he had inherited from his father, the late Baron Leland Salisbury. I guess, if Milton had chosen a home for himself to stay and hold parties, he would have opted for a simple but nice house. Not too big, not too small._

_And so, today’s party wasn’t drowned in gold and diamonds, but decorated in lovely, simple flowers which could be brought everywhere and not only at special markets or through special connections. The flowers weren’t only proof for Milton’s genuineness, but also made the whole hall shine in various colours and spread a pleasant scent around the room._

 

 

“You did a wonderful job at decorating your villa, Baron,” Cloudia praised him and meant every syllable – something which happened very rarely.

Milton smiled shyly. “Great thanks, Lady Cloudia. I’m relieved that the decoration is after your fancy.”

He guided her towards the buffet. “May I offer you a drink? You have to be thirsty from the long drive.”

She smiled. “I would be disappointed if you didn’t.”

Milton walked towards the drinks to get Cloudia a glass of champagne. It would be unlike Milton to command a servant to come and bring it to him. In the meantime, Cedric bent down a bit to speak to Cloudia without having to whisper directly into her ear – something which would have been utterly suspicious –, and without risking that anybody could hear their conversation.

“I couldn’t ask you this question earlier, Countess, but: When you found out where Dempsey was hiding, why didn’t you go there and kill him immediately? Why do you have to lure him out?”

“Haven’t I told you that Dempsey has an accomplice? Killing him would have destroyed the easiest way to find his accomplice. That Dempsey is here, and not out and slaughtering people in the shadows of night, means that today they have planned something _big_. And my guess is that, because today will be a special one, the accomplice will be present among the guests too. Getting them both at once is way better, even though we had to wait a while until such an opportunity came.”

Cloudia reached out to a vase with yellow flowers. “Don’t you think that these Lily Honeymoons are simply wonderful, Duke Underwood?”

 

 

_Of course, I wanted to tell him through my sudden change of topic that he shouldn’t talk about our mission right now._

 

 

Cedric stepped a bit away from Cloudia and nodded. “These are fairly nice...”

“Lily Honeymoons,” Cloudia told him. “A special kind of lilies.” She gently touched the petals. “I prefer white lilies, but these are lovely too. What are your favourite flowers, Duke?”

“If I’m not totally mistaken, I guess their name was Sterling Silver Roses.”

“Did you know that lavender coloured roses are a sign of enchantment and love at first sight? Also, the colour purple or lavender is traditionally associated with royalty.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“Now you do. Baron! We were just talking about _how_ lovely your flowers are! And because of that, we derived to speaking about our own favourite flowers. The Duke’s favourites are Sterling Silver Roses, and mine is white lilies. What are your favourites, if I may ask, Mylord?” Cloudia said in her sweet “Lady Cloudia” voice when Milton returned to them with a glass of champagne for everyone – he had even thought of Cedric. Milton handed over the glasses, and Cedric and Cloudia took them with a thankful nod.

“Flowers? My favourite ones would be zinnias, especially white ones,” Milton answered coyly.

“White zinnias! Did you know that they stand for goodness? And you’re a very good man, Baron Salisbury.”

Milton’s cheeks became as red as ripe apples, and Cloudia could see from the corner of her eye that Cedric was laughing internally.

Milton cleared his throat. “You’re evidently versed in the language of flowers, Lady Cloudia.”

Cloudia put the glass to her lips and took a sip. “The language of flowers is one of those things which are taught primarily to girls. Girls are supposed to know such things after all. Therefore, I am quite versed in this topic.”

She saw Wentworth approaching them silently.

“Master Milton,” Wentworth said when he arrived next to Milton. “Marquess Christian Croft and his wife, Marchioness Cornelia Croft, have arrived.”

Milton nodded and put his glass on the tray of a passing-by servant. “I understand. If I may excuse myself?”

Cloudia tilted her head in allowance, and Milton went to greet Christian and Cornelia Croft. Wentworth followed his master discreetly.

Cedric giggled a bit, not being able to hold it back anymore. “You nobles are a funny lot. All the formality is just hilarious. And your acting is it too. I can’t believe that the Queen’s Watchdog pretends to be a fine, young poster child in public.”

She smiled mischievously. “It makes me tired and sick on some days, but this is the price I have to pay to keep my act alive. Come, let’s see if Dempsey Morton has already arrived.” Cloudia discarded her empty glass on the tray of a servant and Cedric followed her example. Together they walked through the crowd. Many people started conversations with Cloudia, and she introduced Cedric to everyone as “her old friend Duke Kristopher Underwood.” But still, there was no sign of Dempsey Morton.

“Now, I understand why you said it’s tiring,” Cedric said after a million rounds of friendly small talk.

“See? The life of a noble can also be very exhausting. Let’s see if we can find Milton. Surely he knows if Dempsey’s already here or...”

Cloudia was interrupted mid-sentence by a familiar voice.

“I didn’t expect you to be here, Cloudia.”

She froze and turned around. Cedric stopped walking too and turned to see what was the matter.

 

 

_My cousin Cathleen was standing in front of me with her husband August. The Earl and Countess of Venetella were attending this party and making my work even more complicated._

 

 

“Oh, hello, Cathleen! I didn’t expect you to be here either,” Cloudia replied, internally cursing Milton for not telling her that he had invited her cousin. “How are you doing? I haven’t seen you since New Year’s Eve.”

“I am doing fine. Thanks for asking.”

Cathleen Milne was the daughter of Cloudia’s aunt, Baroness Joanna Woodward, who was the younger sister of her mother, Penelope. She was only two years older than Cloudia but already married to August Milne, the Earl of Venetella. Today, Cathleen wore a pale blue dress which made her look like a petite porcelain doll. Her dark brown, slightly curly hair had been pinned up with fine, glittering needles. Her grey eyes reflected calmness and collection which she was able to project over everything in her area. Cloudia liked Cathleen the most out of her cousins since she was the only one who wasn’t noisy at all.

But today, Cloudia wished that Cathleen wasn’t there but at home.

“How about you, Cloudia?” August Milne said. He wore an elegant dark suit which let his incredible green eyes stand out more than usual. “How’s life doing for you?”

Cloudia smiled politely. “I’m doing quite well, to be honest. I’m glad to see that you both are fine and healthy. Come to think of it – what brought you two to this party, if it’s not rude to ask?”

August laughed. “We were invited by Baron Salisbury, Cloudia. Also, your question wasn’t rude at all. What’s rude is that you still haven’t introduced us to your companion.”

Cloudia glanced at Cedric. “Right. I’m sorry. Seeing you here surprised me so much that I honestly forgot that. I am sorry.”

 

 

_Honestly, I just wanted to go and find Dempsey Morton as soon as possible. If he was planning to do anything to Milton’s guests, he would also endanger Cathleen and August. And as long as my name was Cloudia Phantomhive, I would never jeopardise the lives of my family members._

_Besides, I had already planned to introduce Cedric to my family at a different point in time, so I had secretly hoped that Cathleen and August just wouldn’t notice him._

 

 

“This is Duke Kristopher Underwood. He’s from America and an old friend of mine,” Cloudia explained.

“Duke, these are Cathleen Milne, Countess of Venetella, my elder cousin, and her husband, August Milne, Earl of Venetella.”

Cedric and August shook hands, and Cedric bowed in front of Cathleen.

“I already assumed that you belong to Lady Cloudia’s family,” Cedric suddenly said to Cathleen with a broad smile. “The family resemblance is striking.”

“Oh, thank you, Duke Underwood.”

 

 

 _Cathleen with her slightly curly, dark brown hair, the pale grey eyes, the petite stature and her fairy-like overall appearance didn’t even resemble me_ a bit _. My cousins and I had so little in common that we always had to tell people that we were related because they wouldn’t notice it otherwise._

_Thus Cedric was just being sarcastic._

 

 

“Excuse me, Cloudia,” Cathleen said all of a sudden, turning towards her younger cousin. “If the Duke is an old friend of yours, how does it come that I do not know him at all? When did you meet him for the first time?”

 

 

Dammit.

_If Cedric and I had encountered Constantia rather than Cathleen, she would have never noticed this discrepancy. But Cathleen actually knew how to use her wit, so I needed to improvise._

_Hopefully, my improvisation would be convincing enough for her._

 

 

“When I was fourteen years old, I was invited by Duchess Josephine Conner. You know, the elderly widow who is known for her extravagant parties,” Cloudia began.

“Oh. I do remember her,” Cathleen replied with a firm nod.

“Well, I actually attended her party because I haven’t gone to any in that year. The Duke had visited his uncle, the former Duke, Wallace Underwood, during that summer, and was taken to Josephine Conner’s party by said uncle. We both didn’t enjoy the feast very much and ended up talking to each other in our despair. We became friends in the end and wrote to each other after he returned to America. However, I was still surprised to hear that he would move to England after succeeding his uncle as the Duke of Underwood.”

 

 

 _I_ did _attend Josephine Conner’s party in that year for the reason I had just stated. Besides, it had really been that dull and boring. But, of course, I hadn’t met Cedric there._

_I liked mixing lies with truth – and it was up to others to divide them._

 

 

Cathleen blinked at Cloudia in surprise. “Oh, I didn’t know that!”

“It’s fine, Cathleen,” Cloudia waved aside with a smile. “You couldn’t know about our friendship because I did not tell you or anyone else about it. I hope that you do not expect me to entrust you with every detail of my life.”

Her cousin laughed. “Of course, you do not have to, Cloudia.”

Cloudia grinned. “Then, the matter’s settled, I guess. By the way, Cathleen, you look lovely today, have anybody told you that today despite August?” she said in order to guide the topic of their conversation to a more comfortable direction.

Cathleen smiled her absolutely sweet smile. Out of all of her cousins, Cathleen was the only true lady. She didn’t have to build up an act to be one. She was a naturally kind-hearted person with lovely manners everybody just had to love.

“Thanks, Cloudia. You look fantastic too. The dress suits you very well.”

For today, Cloudia had chosen a purple coloured dress with a faint flowery pattern on it.

“Thank you. Cathleen, have you seen Baron Salisbury by the way?”

“The Baron?” Cathleen asked. “No, I haven’t seen him for a while now.” She looked up at August. “Did you see him?”

August shook his head. “I have not seen him either. But I saw someone much more surprising a few minutes ago. Before we met you.”

Cloudia was alarmed. “Who did you see, August?”

“You will not believe it, but I saw Dempsey Morton, the Duke of Maverick. He was standing by the buffet and eating a strawberry cake when we were passing by.”

 

 

_At least there was something good at them being here._

 

 

Cloudia smiled. “Come to think of it – the Duke and I have to go now. Lady Mary Louise Kent wanted to talk to us. If you could please excuse us?”

She quickly turned around and took Cedric with her.

“How much time do we have left until Dempsey dies, Undertaker?” she whispered to him as they walked through the saloon.

“Two hours and three minutes,” he answered her, his voice low.

“Then we shouldn’t waste any time anymore. Follow me. We need to find him quickly.”

 

***

 

Ultimately, Cloudia and Cedric found Dempsey Morton while leaving the hall where the party was mainly located. They hurried to follow him but kept in mind that they needed to be decent and not suspicious at all. Fortunately, they managed to dodge every “conversation attacks” by the other guests and follow Dempsey Morton deeper into the villa.

“Where do you think is he going?” Cedric asked.

“I bet Dempsey’s going to the rendezvous point to meet with his accomplice,” Cloudia told him. “The moment they are together; I will go into action. I suggest that you will stay outside and wait. You cannot fight with me after all.”

“You’re really taking the Grim Reaper rules seriously.” He sounded surprised.

“I am a lady of honour. Of course, I do.”

“You know that I could fight with you as long as I don’t kill anybody? Or save people who will die soon?”

“I’m perfectly aware of this fact, but I think I can manage to kill two persons. I killed more on my own.”

“Why don’t you take _Newman_ with you?” Cedric asked. “I have wondered about this for quite a while now.”

“Because Newman is _huge_ ,” Cloudia answered him while walking through the corridors with him. “He is huge and broad and looks more like a bodyguard than a butler. It wouldn’t look good if I took him with me to public places due to that.”

“If he is more like a bodyguard, why is he your _butler_ then?”

“Alfred Newman may physically be a bodyguard, and definitely capable of beheading a person with his bare hands, but he’s also _very_ sophisticated. He has perfect manners, an excellent memory, knowledge everybody dreams of. Newman is a good fighter, he really is, but his academic abilities are just _stunning_. No one would think that he’s so intelligent. Only using him as a bodyguard would be a waste. Also, Phantomhive family butlers _are_ bodyguards more or less, as they have to serve the Watchdog of the Royal family. Phantomhive butlers should have different traits than normal ones. Still, I cannot take Newman with me wherever I go, not only because of his appearance, but also because he hates crowds even more than I do. He’s extremely shy but absolutely loyal to me. I don’t want to over-stain this loyalty by forcing him to go to parties with me. He would feel uneasy and could quit working for me despite his dying loyalty. Newman is very useful for me, so I let him be and do these things by myself.”

Cedric laughed. With no one around to hear it, he could laugh as much as he wanted.

“For the tiniest of moments, I thought you had a heart, Countess. But, of course, you are only doing it because you can get your advances out of it if you do.”

“I _told_ you that I’m sneaky, Undertaker.”

“How did you even meet Newman? If he doesn’t like crowds, you must have found him in an uncommon way.”

“That’s a story far too long to be told now. I have _work_ to do, Undertaker. Don’t forget that you’re also part of this job now.”

Dempsey Morton entered a room and closed the door behind him. Cloudia pointed at it.

“Did you see that? The rendezvous point.” Cloudia walked around the corner, and suddenly started to fumble on her dress.

Cedric stared at her in horror. “Can you please tell me _what you are doing_ , Countess?”

“Don’t you have eyes in your head? I’m trying to get out of this dress.”

Cloudia opened a lot of ties and stepped out of the lower part of her dress. She folded the skirt part of her dress a bit and let it fall onto the floor. Underneath the skirt, a pair of pants had appeared.

“ _Of course_ , I can fight in a skirt. Today, however, I don’t feel like it.”

Cedric still stared at her.

“How did you managed _that_? And couldn’t you have warned me?”

Cloudia frowned. “What do you mean? Did you expect me to undress at such a moment? If you did, I would label you as a complete idiot. The dress, by the way, is custom made. There is a certain tailor whose family has worked for the Phantomhives for a very long time. I ordered this dress from him. Like his ancestors, he vowed that he would never tell anyone about the secret of the Phantomhives or the special clothes they make for them. I usually only go to him if I need special clothing like this dress.”

“And what will you do if anybody finds the skirt part of your dress?”

She shrugged. “I have Newman to dispose of them. Also, I doubt that any of those people down there except Cathleen, August, and perhaps even Milton, have enough brain cells to recognise that skirt as mine. And now, let’s go back to the really important things. Could you please go and see through the room’s window” – Cloudia pointed to the room where Dempsey had vanished into – “if anybody’s with Dempsey? I hope you can do that?”

Cedric sighed. “That’s not even funny at all.”

“My job is fairly _not_ funny. Now go. We’re wasting too much time.”

 

 

A few minutes later, Cedric appeared next to her without making any sound.

“Dempsey is talking to a man. A part of the window is ajar, but I couldn’t make out the words because the part is located too high,” he instructed her, and Cloudia nodded like she had known that since forever and only sent him to annoy him.

“Can you describe him to me?”

“Tall, pale skin, spotless suit, large top hat, tiny moustache, looks quite bored. Does that ring any bells?”

“Your description is horrible. We have to work on that later. Fortunately, I still know who you mean. No other than Flavian Hunt is Dempsey Morton’s accomplice.” Cloudia clicked with her fingers.

“Quick! Look if I’m right in your Death Book. He has to be in there after all.”

Cedric put out the book from his pocket and flipped it open.

“Hunt... Hunt... Ah! There he is! Flavian Hunt, born August 31, 1800, died January 21, 1847, at 23.44 from falling down a high platform.”

“Didn’t I tell you? He’s the only one I know who has a tiny moustache, a gigantic hat and the face of a person who has never experienced the joy of laughter in their entire life.”

 

 

_I saw Cedric flinching briefly. I didn’t say anything._

 

 

“But you don’t seem to laugh either, Countess,” Cedric said, and Cloudia scowled at him.

“To be honest, I didn’t expect Milton to have invited him. Flavian Hunt isn’t a very pleasant person – or probably it’s because Flavian Hunt never starts a conversation by himself? Whatever.” She smirked. “You said a high window part is open? Am I right in my assumption that you can easily escort me there, Undertaker?”

 

***

 

“Flavian Hunt,” Cloudia whispered. The air of night was cold against her face and bare arms. Cedric had an arm wrapped around her waist, keeping care that she wouldn’t fall down. He himself stood on a tiny, tiny ledge. Without his supernatural powers, they would have already fallen down.

“I knew that something was off with him.” She leaned further towards the ajar window and opened it silently. “Come. We slip through the window, hide behind the curtains, and then you will slowly let us down until our feet touch the ground, okay?”

“Countess. I hope you’re aware _that Grim Reapers cannot fly_.”

“Of course, I know that. It would be really silly if you could. You just have to take the curtain and layaway down.”

Cedric stared at her. “Wait – _what_?”

“Didn’t you tell me that Grim Reapers possess strength far more enhanced than humans?”

Cloudia smiled mischievously, and he sighed.

“If we’re done, you have to find me the best joke in the history of jokes as compensation.”

“We will _not_ get done if you continue talking and not _doing_ anything.”

He scowled at her. “Very well, Countess,” he said bitterly.

 

 

_I had never experienced him like that; not laughing for such a long period of time._

 

 

Cedric reached out to the curtain through the wide-open window. The moment he took hold of it, he jumped off the ledge and through the window without letting go of Cloudia. She put her arms around his torso so he could use both hands to layaway down the curtain. And while Cedric was struggling to get them down, Cloudia peeked out from the curtain and watched Dempsey Morton and Flavian Hunt who were in deep conversation.

“What do you mean, you don’t have it with you? You told me you would have it!” Dempsey yelled furiously. He looked pale and sickly, but his differently coloured eyes still glowed with rage.

“I didn’t tell you that. I told you that you would receive it after you have executed your task,” Flavian Hunt replied in his usual bored voice.

“The murders in Westminster, Camden and Islington were only decoys – and the product of your eerie blood-lust. Your real task was to blow up this place. Baron Milton Salisbury’s company is a danger for my own as it grows bigger and bigger with every month. Besides, today many other heads of renowned companies, who are in the same business area like me, have gathered here. And as long as they are still alive, you will not get your drugs, Morton.”

“Please! Just a bit! I didn’t have them for such a long time now!”

“If you want them, then show me that it was the right decision to get you out of that hospital.”

Cedric and Cloudia reached the ground, their feet touching it silently. He let go of the curtain, sighing in relief that this ridiculous stunt was now over.

“Go up again and through the window. Cover the door from the other side,” Cloudia whispered into his ear. “Don’t let them escape.”

Cedric nodded and vanished so quickly that she didn’t even see him move. Then, Cloudia put out her pistol, released the safety catch and stepped out from behind the curtain, aiming at Dempsey and Flavian.

“I’m sorry to interrupt your little talk, Ladies, but you’re under arrest.”

Both men flinched and turned towards her as she spoke.

“Lady Cloudia Phantomhive!” Flavian called out in surprise – which in turn surprised Cloudia because she had only heard him bored.

“But she wasn’t on the guest list I stole!” Dempsey cried out and took a step back.

“No more moving, Darlings, or I will fire.”

“A girl like you? As if! You’re probably only distracting us from your fiancé, the Earl of Phantomhive. The Watchdog.” Dempsey looked around, an ugly grin on his face. “Where is the good ol’ Earl? Letting his doll fiancée alone?” He laughed gutturally.

Cloudia narrowed her eyes for a moment before bursting out in bitter laughter.

“Doll fiancée? Earl? I’m sorry, Damsels, but you seem to have got something wrong: There. Is. No. Earl. Of. Phantomhive.”

She smiled a lovely smile, closing her eyes and tilting her head. “And now, please be good and let you get killed by the _Countess_ as I have changed my mind and won’t just arrest you anymore.”

But before she could pull the trigger or anyone else could get out a weapon, the ground underneath their feet began to shake.


	6. The Countess, Frightening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Great thanks for leaving Kudos and comments! :D  
> (And thaliaarche... *tiny, tiny spoiler* you were right! :D)

_“The rest consisted of mocking others.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – January 1847**

 

**~Cloudia~**

_My new investigative partner, Cedric K. Rossdale or “Kristopher Underwood” when he was with me in public –, and I had found the suspect, Dempsey Morton, the sixth Duke of Maverick, in Baron Milton Salisbury’s villa during one of the latter’s parties. With him was Flavian Hunt, who was most likely Dempsey’s employer, and not only his accomplice like Cedric and I had believed._

_But before I could have made any move, the earth had suddenly started to shake._

 

 

The ground was shaking underneath their feet. The chandelier was swinging dangerously. A bit of the grout from the ceiling was crumbling upon them.

Dempsey Morton was laughing hysterically.

“It took me a while to arrange these special bombs, but BAM! Here I go! Now hand me the drug, Hunt!”

“Morton, you idiot!” Flavian Hunt yelled at him, while another bomb exploded and he fell to the ground as the tremor was increased. “You incompetent _fool_! I told you to murder the attendees of this party, and not to _blow up_ the entire villa!”

“But that’s exactly what I’m doing, Mr Hunt! You ordered me to dispose of Salisbury and the others – and what’s the easiest way in doing so? Blowing up ev’rything and ev’ryone!”

 

 

_I got tired of them. I should quickly kill Flavian and Dempsey, and get rid of the bombs._

 

 

Cloudia aimed at Dempsey Morton’s head, but before she could pull the trigger, another explosion occurred. It let the villa shake so much that the grand chandelier, which hung from the ceiling, got loose and fell down. Glass fragments flew through the air, and the ground shook even more due to the fall. Cloudia stumbled backwards, lifting her arms to protect her face. Her back collided with the window, and shivers of the chandelier would have drilled themselves into her arms if...

“My, my, Countess, can’t I leave you alone for a minute?” A chuckle.

Cloudia opened her eyes and put down her arms. Cedric stood in front of her. He had pulled out his gigantic scythe and used it as a shield to protect them from the splinters.

“You shouldn’t protect me. I can do it on my own,” Cloudia replied.

“You’re my partner. I am bound to our deal. Also, I can protect you as long as it isn’t on the day you die.” He tapped on the Death Book. “According to this excellent piece of literature, you won’t die today.”

“At least something.” Cloudia put away her gun and brushed the dirt from her clothes. “Still – didn’t I tell you to cover the door?”

She looked over the remains of the chandelier. “Dempsey and Flavian seem to have escaped by now. What a mess.” She sighed. “I thought after the case with Parrish, I could go home and enjoy the silence and order of my private chambers in the manor – far away from any people. Whatever.”

Cloudia tried to open the window, but it somehow stuck, so she picked up a piece from the chandelier and smashed it through the window.

“Undertaker,” she addressed Cedric. “Please be so nice to go and get out Cathleen, August and Milton. Even Milton’s butler. I don’t think the poor boy can live without Wentworth. Our two madmen are after Milton, so I won’t let them get the satisfaction of killing him. Also, my aunt would be devastated if I let Cathleen and August die.”

Cedric giggled behind his hand. “ _You_ are worried about your aunt?”

She glared at him. “I won’t allow members of my family to get killed because of my work.”

Cloudia pulled out a flare gun, leaned out of the window and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew up the air in a beam of light. She put back the gun and turned towards Cedric.

“Newman and the officers of Scotland Yard will arrive soon. I want to have this case closed by then. Now go and collect Cathleen, August, Milton and Wentworth. I will go after Dempsey and Flavian. We will meet outside of the villa.”

Another explosion occurred. Cedric steadied Cloudia so that she wouldn’t fall down.

“What time is it, Undertaker?”

He took a glimpse at his pocket watch. “23.34.”

“In ten minutes, Flavian Hunt will die. And in twenty-two minutes, Dempsey Morton will follow his example. Concentrate on getting my cousin and the others out. I will meet up with you at midnight. You can collect the souls then. And don’t forget your orders. You don’t have to protect me in any way. As you have said, I will not die today.”

She walked around the remains of the chandelier and towards the door.

“So don’t waste a thought on me and do as I have said. My order is your priority; do you understand?”

Cedric chuckled. “I am not your _servant_ , but you’re the professional, so...” He bowed slightly. “As you say, Countess.”

Cloudia left the room while he started to laugh hysterically.

 

 

_I walked down the corridor. The stairway and the floors looked horrible. Milton’s beautiful flower arrangements were either scattered on the floor or squashed under debris._

_I saw a thankfully unharmed long case clock in a corridor._ 23.37. _In seven minutes, Flavian Hunt would die. I took out my gun and began to hurry. On my way, I saw a white lily under pieces of glass._

 

 

Cloudia reached the area right above the feast hall at 23.39. She glimpsed down and saw the room in ruins. Another explosion occurred, and she had to focus not to lose balance. She heard screams. The party guests still weren’t completely evacuated. They ran around like scared mice, not knowing what to do. Not knowing where to go.

Apparently, Dempsey had positioned bombs at the entrances, locking them up in the villa.

 

 

_I didn’t think that Dempsey Morton would be intelligent enough for such a move._

 

 

Cloudia turned around and saw Flavian Hunt running towards the stairs which led to the hall. She sprinted to him, kneed him in the guts and held her gun against his left temple. His back was pressed against the balustrade and his eyes stared at her in absolute horror.

She grinned. “Now, Mr Hunt, I think it’s time for you tell me why you want to see Milton Salisbury dead. And why you have helped Dempsey Morton to escape from the hospital.”

Flavian cleared his throat. “As I would tell you that, you fu...”

She hit him with the handle of her gun, silencing him. “I don’t have much time left for that, do you know that? I am the Countess of Phantomhive. I have far more important things to do than to interrogate a piece of scum.”

Cloudia drilled the gun into his temple. “Now – _speak_! That’s an order!”

“I... I...” Flavian stuttered, and she kneed him again.

“No stuttering! I know that you can articulate properly, so talk like a man, you coward!” Her grin widened. “After all, you’re peeing yourself because you’re scared of a _mere little girl_.”

“You... you...”

She leaned closer to him. “I listen, Mr Hunt?”

Flavian Hunt’s body shivered when he spoke. “Salisbury’s company has grown to a stunning size over the last year, dethroning... dethroning a lot of other businesses who are way older than his. In... Including mine. Dempsey Morton, who is a drug addict for decades and who was recently hospitalised, seemed to be the right person to employ to kill Salisbury. I got him out of the hospital after he was sent there by his family because he took too much of the drug and was nearly killed because of it. His old butler had died due to a heart attack a bit earlier. If his niece hadn’t found him, Morton would be dead by now. I promised him drugs in exchange of executing Salisbury’s murder. After all, it would seem suspicious if Salisbury was assassinated after my company had lost against his. Scotland Yard would have suspected me first! Therefore, I ordered Morton to murder people in Inner London, where Salisbury lives, to let it appear that Milton Salisbury is only the victim of a serial murder.”

Cloudia chuckled when he was finished. “You’re really pathetic, aren’t you, Flavian Hunt? Because you were jealous of Milton’s skills as a businessman, you teamed up with a madman, and let many, many people be slaughtered.”

She brought her face very close to Flavian’s. “You’re a real piece of scum, Fl...”

Before she could finish or pull the trigger, another bomb went off, damaging the prop of the platform where they stood, letting it tilt. Cloudia let go of Flavian, who fell over the balustrade and right into his death as it was now 23.44, and stepped back.

Cloudia lost her gun as the ground was pulled out from under her feet, and she fell down, sliding towards the balustrade to face the same fate as Flavian Hunt. But in the last second, she managed to hold onto the balustrade, before she fell down and landed on top of Flavian Hunt’s twisted corpse. Dust and grout flew onto her face, and the earth stopped shaking. Smoke was everywhere, and she had to cough.

 

 

Pull yourself up and find Dempsey. You only have twelve minutes left _, I told myself._

And when I find him, I will kill him by myself. This time, no explosion will come between him and me.

 

 

“Mylady!”

Cloudia, who had just pulled herself up a bit, looked up, seeing Alfred Newman run towards her through the ruins. He managed quite well to walk gracefully on this inclined platform.

Newman arrived next to her and helped her to get up. He lifted her up like she was made of paper, and carried her downstairs to the feast hall. The officers and Cedric seemed to have already brought the civilians out of this chaos and into safety. However, Cloudia could still see a few corpses here and there. But nowhere did she see Cathleen’s head with the long dark brown hair, a piece of the suit August Milne was wearing today, protruding underneath debris; or Milton whose cheerful smile had been burned into his unmoving body.

Newman let Cloudia down and quickly cleaned her up from the dust.

“Shall we return to the townhouse now, Lady Cloudia?” he asked her calmly.

She shook her head. “I need to find Dempsey Morton first. You know, the Duke of Maverick. I guess, the police didn’t arrest him while I was after Flavian Hunt?”

“No, Mylady. Scotland Yard didn’t arrest anyone.” Newman didn’t ask why she was speaking of Flavian Hunt. He had already figured out that Flavian must have been Dempsey’s accomplice or employer.

“Newman, I have a task for you.”

“Anything you wish, Lady Cloudia.”

“Find my gun. Unfortunately, I dropped it when the prop broke. I don’t want anyone to find it. I lost a nice dress a few days ago – and today too. I won’t lose a well-working gun. Please find it, and then, wait for me in front of the building. I will meet up with you and Kristopher Underwood at midnight, okay? I have already instructed him.”

Newman bowed in front of her. “Yes, Mylady.”

 

 

_I loved Newman’s loyalty towards me. He would never question me. There were only a few truly fantastic things in this world, and Newman was one of them._

_I was glad that I hadn_ _’_ _t arrested him prematurely back then._

 

 

Cloudia and Newman both turned around at the same time, but headed off to different directions.

 

 

_I preferred to fight alone._

_This was another reason why I didn’t let Newman follow me everywhere. While I appreciated his loyalty, it could also drive him to interfere with my duty if he thought that I needed help._

_The job as the Queen’s Watchdog was mine – and mine alone._

_Apart from my gun, I had only the dagger with me today. I had around eight minutes left until Dempsey Morton would breathe for the last time in his miserable life. The dagger was more than enough to kill him._

_I increased my pace and ran through the remains of the villa. Police officers surrounded the entire building. Newman had told me that they had not arrested Dempsey, which meant that he still had to be here somewhere._

_Before I murdered Flavian Hunt, he had tried running downstairs. Not only because he had wanted to flee from me and the destruction caused by the explosions, but also because he had wanted to run after Dempsey. Therefore, it wasn’t necessary to search for him in the upper floors._

_At least, this restricted the area I had to examine._

_The ground floor didn’t possess many rooms, so I was able to run through them quickly. And if Dempsey wasn’t in one of the upper floors or the ground floor, he could only be in the basement. I allowed myself to grin while I stepped down the stairs to the cellar area, and pulled out the dagger from one of my boots. You wouldn’t wear boots as a lady when you attended a party, but I had not come to dance – I had come to fulfil my duty. Thus, I could wear boots. Also, they had been covered by my long skirt until I removed it._

 

 

The basement was dark and dusty. Somewhere in one of the higher levels, a bomb exploded, letting the earth shake and grout crumble down the ground and onto Cloudia’s carefully coiffed hair.

After Cloudia had finished stepping down the stairs, she heard an eerie giggle coming from a corner of the basement – automatically, she thought of Cedric.

Cloudia sneaked up to the source of laughter. She walked for a while until she saw a light illuminating the darkness in a corner of the basement. Someone whistled joyfully.

She moved forward as silently as a feather until she could make out a silhouette, and until the shape turned into Dempsey Morton, the sixth Duke of Maverick.

Now, being so close to him that she could even smell his nauseous breath, she saw what he was doing down here.

Apparently, Dempsey had managed to steal his beloved drugs from Flavian Hunt before running down to the basement.

Cloudia stopped moving, the light entangling itself in her long lashes and brushing over her ivory skin. Dempsey looked up and smiled, showing his disgusting yellow teeth. He was terribly ugly with his square shaped head, his slightly pointed long nose, the mismatched eyes – one in dirty blue, the other in a horrible brown tone. She was disgusted by him. It was good to know that he would die very soon.

“Oh, Lady Phantomhive!” He giggled gutturally. “Pardon, dearie – _Countess of Phantomhive_!”

Dempsey rose up from the ground, canting over the petrol lamp.

“What... what a beautiful young girl you are, _Countess_!” He giggled again in his fairly displeasing way. “A damsel like you! Watchdog! What a pity! How about...”

Before his dirty fingers could touch her clothes – the mere _thought_ of him touching her made her shiver, and she almost, only almost, became hysterical –, Cloudia struck out and cut through his throat in one, flowing move. His eyes stared at her as blood ran down his wound, and he fell down to his knees, slipping on the pile of blood and landing on his face.

Dempsey Morton, the sixth Duke of Maverick, died of blood loss on January 21, 1847, at 23.56 before his ugly face touched the ground.

Cloudia cleaned up the dagger, put it back in her boots, and turned around to get out of the building. Some people were awaiting her.

She did not even reach the stairs when the last of Dempsey Morton’s bombs was set off and damaged the basement.

 

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

Alfred Newman had come out of the Salisbury Villa right before another bomb went off.

Like Cloudia had wanted him to, Cedric Rossdale had evacuated Cathleen and August Milne, Milton Salisbury, and Abraham Wentworth. Police officers gathered around the villa, trying to comfort the panicking, scared, and bewildered survivors of Milton’s party and to get testimonies from them.

Cedric stood apart from the crowd and watched the villa crumble. No one else paid attention to what had once been a wonderful villa. Therefore, Cedric was the only one seeing Newman come out.

Cloudia Phantomhive attached importance to her elaborate plans. And if it was part of her plan to meet Newman and him, Cedric, at midnight, she wouldn’t allow anything to come between her and the perfect execution of her plan.

However, when Newman approached Cedric as he had apparently been instructed by Cloudia, it was already one minute past midnight.

Something had gone wrong in one of Cloudia Phantomhive’s beloved plans.

Newman bowed in front of him. He was taller, broader, and more muscular than Cedric and wore the tailcoat of a butler which looked silly on him. “Lady Cloudia ordered me to meet you here, Duke Underwood,” he said in a whisper.

Cedric raised an eyebrow. Wasn’t Newman supposed to _know_ that Cloudia was actually a _Countess_ , and not only a Lady anymore? However, he didn’t want to ask this question right now and nodded instead.

“Excuse me, Butler,” Cedric said, “but when did you see the Countess for the last time?”

After all, if the butler knew about her work, he had to know that she was a Countess too, even though he did not address her as such for some reason.

Newman straightened up. “At exactly 23.48, Your Grace.”

Cedric needed to make an effort not to laugh at the address.

“The lovely Cloudia Phantomhive” – he wanted to call her “Countess” and to leave out the “lovely,” but he didn’t want to sound rude in front of Cloudia’s loyal giant –, “told you to meet me, and wait with me for her until midnight, right?”

He lowered his head. “It is exactly as you have said, Your Grace.”

“It’s already past midnight, and I hope that you agree that our Countess would _never_ come late. I will go and see what is hindering her, while you stay and watch over the crowd, Newman.”

Newman bowed again. “As you wish, Your Grace.”

 

 

_I had to admit that it was quite amusing to give out orders._

 

 

Cedric left Newman alone and headed towards the ruined villa. He took out his Death Book and went through the list once again to make sure that Cloudia truly didn’t die on January 21. She wasn’t among the names for that day, and not among the names for tomorrow.

Therefore, the Countess still had to be alive.

Cedric entered the Salisbury Villa and searched for her. Surely, Cloudia would get angry at him, because he had ignored her orders and went to search her. However, Cedric didn’t want their deal to end so soon. Even though Cloudia currently wasn’t listed in the Death Book, it could still be that she had been heavily injured at some point, or even disabled, which could endanger her position as the Queen’s Watchdog. And, of course, the stability of their deal.

Cedric K. Rossdale had a reason to agree on this deal, and this reason let him refuse to leave Cloudia to her fate and endanger the future of said deal.

After Cedric had finished examining the upper floors, he wanted to head for the ground floor and the basement when the building suddenly caught fire. For a few seconds, he stared into the dancing crimson flames before turning around and going downstairs.

Apparently, the last bomb had caused far more damage than anticipated.

On the ground floor, Cedric found Flavian Hunt’s corpse underneath a piece of ceiling. He took out his Death Scythe and collected his soul, initiating the Cinematic Record.

Flavian Hunt, born on August 31, 1800. Death by falling accident on January 21, 1847.

No special remarks.

The Cinematic Record ended, and Cedric put his scythe back. Flavian’s Record had been utterly boring. The only truly interesting part was when he had been interrogated by Cloudia in the final moments of his life.

 _“No stuttering! I know that you can articulate properly, so talk like a man, you coward! After all, you’re peeing yourself because you’re scared of a_ mere little girl _.”_

Cedric smiled. He was still stunned by the fact that Cloudia could curse so wonderfully. How she had humbled Flavian, had been brilliant in his eyes.

 _“After all, you’re peeing yourself because you’re scared of a_ mere little girl _.”_

He chuckled at Flavian’s memory. He had never believed that the Watchdog of the Queen would be so funny.

But when Cloudia had been with Flavian the moment the platform tilted, and Flavian fell down – couldn’t it be possible that she had fallen down too? However, she was nowhere to be seen.

Cedric flipped over other parts of the ceiling, revealing one corpse after the other. He reaped their souls and went on until he had found every dead body. But he still hadn’t found Cloudia.

The Grim Reaper went straight to the basement. The fire was growing and capturing the Salisbury Villa more and more. The smoke would not kill him, but he still didn’t want to stay here longer than necessary.

To make the situation even worse, an image, which he had tried to forget for so long now, sneaked into his mind, but he was able to push it back successfully.

 

 

_I needed to find her as soon as possible._

 

 

A huge piece of ceiling and, or wall was blockading the entrance to the basement. Cedric sliced it into tiny pieces with his Death Scythe and kicked the pieces away. When he was done, he opened the door to the cellar and walked downstairs.

Almost the whole cellar area had collapsed.

Cedric walked around and found Dempsey Morton among the debris. He reaped his soul and prepared himself for another utterly boring Cinematic Record. Again, only the last part, when Cloudia had cut through Dempsey’s throat with her dagger without batting an eye, was genuinely amusing. After finishing up, Cedric continued searching for Cloudia.

Ultimately, he found her unconscious under a piece of debris which jammed her legs. She was covered in dust and grout and looked horrible.

But according to the Death Book, she was not dead.

Cedric pushed away the piece of debris and cleaned her up a bit before he checked if her legs or any other part of her body was broken. Then, he started trying to wake her up.

“Hey, Countess, it’s time to wake up,” he said, snapping against her cheek. However, it didn’t work. Cedric sighed and picked her up. Cloudia didn’t weigh much and felt like a feather in his arms. Her long lashes rested gently on the upper part of her cheeks. Despite the fact, that she was unconscious because something had fallen onto her, and that she wasn’t looking as fine as usual, Cloudia Phantomhive was still adorable when she was asleep.

When people were around, she was _too_ lovely and _too_ fairy-like. And when no one was around, she was too stern and too grumpy.

Asleep, however, Cloudia was absolutely wonderful. He could look at her forever.

The flames destroyed Milton’s flowers and ate through the walls like termites when Cedric left the villa with Cloudia in his arms. He carried her to Newman who relieved him of her and carefully placed Cloudia into the carriage. Cedric entered it, closed the door and the evening was finally over.

 

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

Cloudia woke up with a start. Her heart was beating too fast in her chest, and her entire body felt like she had been driven over by a carriage with a million horses.

“My, my, you’re quite a long sleeper, Countess.”

Instinctively, Cloudia put one hand under her pillow, grabbed the gun beneath, and whirled towards the speaker in a few seconds. When she realised that it was only Cedric, who was sitting on a chair next to her bed, she sighed deeply and put the gun away.

Cedric started to laugh. “Did I startle you, Countess?”

She scowled at him. “I am always a bit oversensitive after waking up.”

He chuckled. “If you say so, Countess.” Cedric leaned back. “Didn’t know you’re keeping a gun underneath your pillow.”

“That’s what most Watchdogs do. My father did it too. We live dangerously after all.”

“Earl Simon Phantomhive, right? Did anybody tell you about this habit of his?”

Cloudia shook her head. “No. I had once found the gun when I was still a little child. My mother wasn’t very happy about it.”

“Hihi. But weren’t you still a baby when your father died?”

She glared at him. “Four. I was _four_ years old when my father died.”

He shrugged. “Whatever. I guess you want to know what happened after practically the whole building crashed on top of you.

“It’s very simple: You passed out and didn’t arrive on time, so I disobeyed you and went back to the villa. I searched for you, collected the souls of the dead, and found you in the basement in the end. You seem to possess an enormous amount of luck to have survived this without any serious injuries, Countess.”

“Sounds like you are disappointed that I didn’t die.”

Cedric chuckled. “Of course, I’m not! Fun time has just started, Countess. I wouldn’t want to let it end so soon.”

Cloudia sighed. “Are you done yet? My head hurts and I don’t want to sleep with you around.”

“But you’ve slept through the last couple of days with me watching you most of the time,” he replied playfully serious.

Her eyes widened. “I was asleep for _how_ long did you say?”

He bubbled over with laughter. “Three days! By the way, Countess, you’re surprisingly cute when you’re fast asleep. Not saying anything! Not torturing anyone! Not killing anyone!”

She threw a pillow at him. “Be glad that I can’t stand up.”

“Hihi. I was just kidding, Countess! With who else could I talk if not with you?”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have any friends to annoy?”

“In the Grim Reaper Dispatch?” Cedric fell off the chair due to a ridiculous amount of laughter. “ _That’s_ why I wanted you to wake up finally, Countess! You’re truly hilarious!”

Cloudia sighed. “Be quiet. Lisa and, or Newman, or someone else could hear you.”

He wiped away some tears of laughter. “Okay, okay, Countess. I will stop.”

“Finally.” She leaned back into the remaining big pillow and closed her eyes. Her headache was starting to make her feel dizzy. “Did you save Cathleen and the others, Undertaker?”

“Just as you’ve ordered me to, Countess.”

“Good.”

Cedric frowned. “You look pained. Is anything wrong, Countess?” he asked worriedly.

“I just have a headache, Undertaker. It’s nothing unusual,” Cloudia replied.

He shrugged. “Well... practically a whole building fell onto you after all. Also, you’re way calmer than usual when you have a headache, Countess.”

She didn’t say anything.

“Come to think of it...” Cedric started, rapidly changing the topic. “I have never seen you with undone hair before. You always wear your hair in this stern wreath-hair-do after all.”

Cloudia opened her eyes again and turned her head towards him. “Is there any problem with it?”

“No. I just think that you look better with undone hair. It’s also _really_ long, did anybody tell you that before?”

Cloudia smirked weakly. “No. But _you_ shouldn’t be the one to tell me such a thing.”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Your hair is probably even longer than mine. And you’re a _man_. A male homo sapiens sapiens. Even though you are everything but wise.”

“We have talked about that, Countess. I like my hair that way. Also, it doesn’t change the fact that yours is also really, _really_ long.”

The headache had invaded her whole head now. Cloudia could feel how she wasn’t able to keep her eyes open anymore.

“Are you okay, Countess?”

Cedric sounded worried.

She nodded absently. “Yes, yes. I am... just... tired.”

With these words, Cloudia fell fast asleep.


	7. Christmas Special: The Business Partners, Jolly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry!
> 
> I actually wanted to upload this chapter last week on Christmas because it's a Christmas Special after all, but I got distracted with writing a chapter for the second arc of this story, and people kept me busy during Christmas... Also, the research for this chapter reached ridiculous lengths and ate a lot of time, so I had to push back this chapter's publishing date farther back... And then, most of my research cannot even be clearly seen in this chapter, but whatever...
> 
> In the end, I couldn't even follow my "weekends-update" promise... . Hopefully, this will never happen again. (Also, it's not even Christmas anymore... -.-)
> 
> At least this chapter turned out to be super long (even though it's quite ridiculous), so you have at least something from it!
> 
> (Also, because of that, there will be two updates this week.)
> 
> I hope that you will enjoy this chapter nevertheless!

_“Sometimes, you even had work to do on Christmas.”_

* * *

 

 

**Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kingdom ‒ December 1847**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

The snow was falling upon them when they walked through the streets of Edinburgh. Some people were gathering in the large shops and the small markets to purchase gifts for their relatives and friends. Others were having fun just taking a walk through the wonderful little market stands, and perhaps buying some sweets or playing games. Everyone was in absolute joy – except the woman with the midnight blue dress and the red coat. Furiously, she hurried through the streets of Edinburgh alongside a tall man with long grey hair and glasses, who wore an elegant dark suit under a finely tailored black coat. Two footmen were following them, carrying their suitcases.

In two days it would be Christmas Eve, and Countess Cloudia Phantomhive, the Watchdog of Queen Victoria, had been assigned a new case. Not being able to spend the holidays in her comfortable manor in the countryside was bad enough, but halfway through arriving at the hotel, where she and Grim Reaper Cedric Rossdale would stay in during their time in Edinburgh, a wheel of their carriage had broken. Cloudia had sent the third servant, the coachman, Victoria had provided her for her stay, to get the carriage fixed while looking after the two horses. Then, she had ordered the other two footmen to grab the suitcases and follow her to the hotel as she had memorised the way beforehand.

“My, my, Countess. Don’t walk so fast. Our two poor little footmen will lose us otherwise,” Cedric said to her with a grin on his lips.

“Balderdash!” she replied, even increasing her pace. “They will manage it. Also, we wouldn’t have to walk the rest of the way if these morons had thoroughly checked the wheels.”

“Your language, Lady Cloudia.”

“To hell with my language. I just want to take a long bath, read a good book, get a wonderful meal, and go to sleep.”

Cedric giggled.

After fifteen minutes, they were finally able to book into the hotel and head to their respective rooms. The last time, Cloudia and Cedric had travelled together had been in July when they had been forced to go to Wales for holidays. In Wales, they had lived in a little cottage for two weeks. Now, they stayed in a luxurious hotel – and hopefully, the food here was as good as the food which had been provided in the cottage.

With a sigh, Cloudia freshened herself up after entering her room. Snow had fallen into her hair and wet it, messing up her hair-do. She left her red velvet coat to dry on a chair while fixing her messy hair. Lisa Greene, her loyal maid, wasn’t with her, and Cloudia definitely didn’t want to rely on some of these useless maids the hotel provided for its guests who were all of the nobility. They would most likely just worsen everything.

Cloudia undid her hair-do, dried her hair with a towel and brushed it. It took a while because her black hair was quite long. When she was done, she plaited it but didn’t fix the braid to a wreath on the back of her head. Then, Cloudia washed her face and put on a little bit of make-up. Afterwards, she changed into a fresh dress and headed downstairs to the dining hall.

Cedric was already sitting at a table, honestly eating dessert first. He grinned at her when she sat down at the table with a sigh.

“I hope you know that it is improper to eat dessert before the starter and the main dish?”

“I do, but the cake is just better than the food here.” He grimaced. “I tasted the starter – horrible thing. The cook has to be hanged for poisoning people.”

“Well...” Cloudia began. “Not everyone can be Mr Owens.”

“Arwyn! You cannot compare an ordinary cook to _Arwyn_. This guy’s a genius.” Cedric took another spoonful of his cream cake with strawberries.

“Armstrong’s cooking is also quite good,” Cloudia replied.

 

 

 _Jean-Luc Armstrong was my cook at the manor_ _–_ _I wished I could switch places with him._

 

 

Cedric wrinkled his nose. “Armstrong’s quite good, but not a genius.” He finished the cake. “To be honest, the cake’s only a bit better than the starter. Perhaps, the main dish is even worse.” He leaned back. “Perhaps it would kill _me_. Me – a person who has already experienced death.”

Cloudia sighed.

 

 

_Apparently, my wish to savour a formidable dinner had just vanished into thin air._

 

 

“There are a few restaurants around,” she said. “If the food here is really that bad, I won’t eat it. I _despise_ bad food. Every time I stumble upon a horrible cook, I want to meet the person who taught them everything, or the person who employed such a no-good. Then, I want to torture them by letting them eat their own horrible food day by day until they break. And even when they break, I will continue torturing them.”

Cedric laughed, and if they hadn’t been in public, he would have laughed until he was rolling on the floor, holding his belly. “You’re just too gruesome, Lady Cloudia.”

He could have called her “Countess” like he usually did without anyone noticing it. The people in the dining room were too busy with their own works and conversations to pay attention to them. They could have danced on the tables without anyone even taking a _glimpse_ at them.

“I am not gruesome. I am _hungry_.” Cloudia stood up. “And a worshiper of good food. Now, let’s go and find ourselves some proper meal. I am starving.”

 

 

And, hopefully, I would be able to eat it without feeling the urge to vomit again _, I added in my mind._

 

***

 

Cloudia and Cedric had found a decent restaurant a few streets away, and Cedric had just finished the main dish – salmon with vegetables and a mushroom sauce – while Cloudia still picked into it. She hadn’t even completed her fish yet.

“Now... why exactly are we here, Lady Cloudia?” Cedric asked while eating dessert – this time it was berry custard.

“One week ago, the only son of Ladarius Parks, the Earl of Ceybury, Joseph Parks, the Viscount of Weston, was kidnapped,” Cloudia told him, putting her fork down. “The Earl’s wife and little daughter passed away a few years ago in a boat accident. Therefore, he is very sensitive when it comes to his son.”

“What a tragedy,” Cedric commented, continuing to eat the custard with pleasure.

“Again, Scotland Yard failed to find Joseph. Therefore, the Queen assigned me to this case.” She sighed. “If the Yard wasn’t so useless, I would have more spare time. But to be a member of Scotland Yard, you apparently needed to be a distinguished moron.”

Cedric nearly choked on the berry custard. “Distinguished moron! Hihi. That’s a good one, Lady Cloudia.”

“Unfortunately, this seemingly isn’t even a joke.” Cloudia sighed again. “The Yard surely needs to employ _competent_ people and not fools. I know, there are more fools than competent persons in the world, but it couldn’t be _that_ difficult to find some. Whatever, let’s talk about the case again before we accidentally talk about the Yard’s idiocy all night long.

“Well... I talked with Ladarius, and he told me about the day Joseph vanished. On the day of his kidnapping, Joseph was out riding, but only his horse returned to the Parks Manor some time later. Besides, someone put a note on the horse’s fur: ‘Bring twenty thousand pounds to Edinburgh Castle’s St. Margaret’s Chapel exactly on Christmas Eve or your beloved son’s throat will be cut. And don’t dare to bring anyone with you,’ it said. Immediately, Ladarius went to Scotland Yard, but, well, we already clarified that only idiots work there, so they are still as clueless as they were at the beginning. Christmas Eve is only two days away. And while Ladarius is more than willing to sacrifice some of his wealth for the safety of his son, we cannot be certain that the kidnappers _will_ let Joseph go after receiving the ransom.

“Because we simply do not have the security that Joseph _will_ return to his father after the ransom’s paid, we are here. The kidnappers have to collect the money, after all. Thus they need to go to Edinburgh. So we know for certain that at least _one_ of the kidnappers will be at Edinburgh Castle on Christmas Eve. Tomorrow, we will have time to examine St. Margaret’s Chapel so that I can finalise my plan.”

“I see,” Cedric said with a nod, finishing his custard. “Do you still want to eat that?” he asked, pointing his spoon at Cloudia’s berry custard.

She sighed. “You can have it.” With shining eyes, Cedric took the plate with the custard and started to eat it with a smile on his face.

“If we get back to England, we definitely need to talk about your eating habit,” Cloudia mumbled, sighing for the second time.

 

***

 

Edinburgh Castle was a fortress on the Castle Rock, which was a volcanic plug located in the middle of Edinburgh. A volcanic plug got created when magma hardened within a vent of an active volcano. It was assumed that the Castle Rock was occupied by people since the late Bronze Age.

In 1757, Edinburgh Castle had been turned into a big prison for prisoners of war from the Seven Years War – occurring between 1755 and 1764, with the main conflict having taken place from 1756 to 1763 –, the American Revolution which had happened between 1765 and 1783, and the Napoleonic War which had lasted from 1803 to 1815. However, in 1811, 49 prisoners had escaped from the castle, thus ending its time as a prison. Now, the castle was “just” a national monument.

Cloudia had read this and far more about Edinburgh Castle at the age of seven, and she was happy that she now had the opportunity to tell someone about her knowledge. Cedric, on the other hand, wasn’t really pleased to hear detailed descriptions about how Castle Rock had been formed in 340 million B.C., how English people had captured the City of Din Eidyn and renamed it to Edinburgh in 638 B.C., or how Edinburgh Castle had got captured by various people over and over again.

“Did you know that King George IV visited this castle in 1822, thus making him the second monarch to visit it? The first one was King Charles III in 1651,” Cloudia lectured him while they were walking over the court.

“No, I didn’t,” Cedric replied. “And actually, I don’t really want to know.”

“Why? It’s quite interesting, don’t you think?”

“Actually, I don’t.”

Cloudia sighed. “I have never thought that you would have so much floccinaucinihilipilification for interesting subjects.”

“I will just nod because I have no clue what this overly long word should mean.” Cedric nodded with a smile on his face, and Cloudia sighed again.

 

 

_We walked through Edinburgh Castle the whole day and inspected every nook and cranny of St. Margaret’s Chapel. Cedric made silly jokes all the time and ate something from every booth selling sweets we saw until I stopped him by saying that it was time to go to eat dinner and to return to the hotel._

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 _Cloudia and I had gone to a very nice restaurant yesterday, eating plenty of food. At least,_ I _had eaten plenty. She had tried to fool me by picking her food, putting a bit of it into her mouth every five to ten minutes, and distracting me with more Edinburgh Castle lectures, but I had still noticed that she had just cut her food into tiny, tiny pieces all the time. She hadn’t really eaten anything and given me her dessert again._

_She had done the same worrisome thing the day before yesterday. And back then, in Wales._

_I needed to talk to her. Therefore, I sneaked into her hotel room just a few minutes after midnight. Cloudia was already asleep_ _–_ _which was quite unusual for her because I would always find her reading when I went to see her during the night._

_Besides, it didn’t seem like she was sleeping peacefully right now._

_Something was wrong; I knew that._

 

 

Cedric turned on a petroleum lamp and dragged a chair next to Cloudia’s bed, before hovering over her and poking her cheek. Straightaway, Cloudia woke up, pulling out her gun underneath the pillow and aiming it directly into Cedric’s face. She was panting heavily for air, and he saw her body shivering a bit.

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” Cloudia yelled at him when she had calmed down a bit, putting her gun back under the pillow. “Why do you always have to trespass into my room when I am fast asleep?”

“To be honest, Countess,” Cedric said, sitting down on the chair, “I usually trespass into your room when you _aren’t_ asleep as you’re mostly reading through the night rather than sleeping through it.”

She scowled at him. “We’re going to be very busy tomorrow. Thus, I couldn’t read through this night.”

“And is us being enormously busy _today_ – it’s already Christmas Eve – the reason why you haven’t actually eaten anything, or at least not much in the last couple of days, Countess of Phantomhive?”

Cloudia flinched.

 

 

_I took a deep breath._

 

 

“It’s none of your business,” Cloudia replied, glaring at him. But for once, she didn’t look unflinching while glaring at him. “Now go and leave me alone, Undertaker.”

Cedric stood up and grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “I won’t tell you how old I am,” he said in an eerily cold and bitter voice. “But I tell you that I have lived for so long to have enough of that shit. You’re having a problem, so don’t brush it away and _tell it to me_.”

She stared at him in utter shock before she freed herself from his grip. “What is wrong with you?” Cloudia asked without vigour.

“What is wrong with _you_?” Cedric yelled at her before taking a deep breath. “I don’t want to yell at you again,” he stated softly, fumbling with four little lockets in his right trouser pocket. “But if you die from starvation or something – who else should provide me such fine laugh like you do?”

“If my name’s not listed in your Death Book, I won’t die in the foreseeable future, Undertaker. You know that.” Cloudia rolled her eyes.

“We’re in _Scotland_ now, Countess,” Cedric gave a testy reply. “My Death Book only covers the deaths of people in _London and surroundings_.”

She sighed, closing her eyes and sinking her fingers into the blanket.

 

 

 _Cloudia looked so_ fragile _at this moment, reminding me of that certain day in July when we had been in Wales._

_I hated me for having yelled at her, for having been so rough with her._

 

 

“I’m just having nightmares,” Cloudia confessed silently, not opening her eyes. Her narrow shoulders trembled, and Cedric sat down on her bed. He put his arms around her and pulled her to him. She stiffened, but he didn’t stop holding her. “My...” He bit his lip. “I also have nightmares,” Cedric admitted, leaning his head on Cloudia’s. “And a very, very long time ago, someone used to hug me when I woke up from them. For some reason, it always calmed me down, so I’ll just try it with you. I hope you don’t mind.”

For a while, nobody said anything before Cedric raised his voice again. “This... this person also thought that it would help to tell somebody else about your nightmares. Want to try it out, Countess? What are you dreaming of? What is haunting you?”

Cloudia didn’t answer for a very long period of time, but he didn’t mind.

 

 _I could hold her like this forever_ _–_ _my head on hers, smelling the fragrance of her hair, feeling her warmth against my own cold dead body._

 

“I don’t know why,” Cloudia eventually began, her voice nothing more than a faint whisper, “but, lately, I have the same nightmare over and over again. I often have nightmares all over the year, but... this time they are different. Because for some point, I have them about my grandmother.”

Cedric frowned. “Your _grandmother_?” He hesitated before asking his next question, and when he finally said it aloud, something in his chest ached. “Did she do anything to you?”

Cloudia weakly shook her head. “No. My paternal grandmother loved me. She had always wanted to have two children: a son and a daughter, but she never got a daughter. When my parents got married, she was happy to finally have a ‘daughter,’ not caring if it was just a ‘daughter-in-law.’ And when I was born, she was overjoyed again.”

“What was her name?” Cedric asked her, pulling her a bit closer to him.

“Genevieve Phantomhive. She was formerly known as Genevieve Hetherington, the Lady of Avagon,” she mumbled into the fabric of his shirt. “She died on December 25, 1832.”

Cedric’s eyes widened. “Could it be that you have these nightmares because of your grandmother’s death?”

She shook her head again. “I liked her a lot. She was my favourite grandmother, but I see no reason why I should have nightmares because she died when I was two years old. It just doesn’t add up.”

“At least, I’m not at home,” Cloudia said after a while, sounding awfully miserable.

“Wait – _what_? Usually, you seem like you want to sell me on getting an extra fast ride home.”

She took a deep breath. “It’s just that I wouldn’t get any rest if I was home. I would have to go to my Aunt Felicity’s manor in Ireland for Christmas according to Houghton family tradition. And they all will be there... my aunts, my uncles, my cousins... my grandmother.” Cloudia dug her fingers into the fabric of Cedric’s shirt. “They are too noisy,” she whispered.

He rubbed her back. “It’s all right. Tell me... how long do you have these nightmares about your grandmother?”

She thought about it for a while. “Since around the time when I took charge of the kidnapping case.”

“I see,” Cedric replied. “Do you think that there is some kind of connection? That the kidnapping case has somehow reminded you of your grandmother?”

“No,” Cloudia answered him, and he bit his lips. He didn’t like her being like this.

 

 

_I wanted to have the Normal Cloudia back._

 

 

“And why?”

“I just see no connection between my grandmother and some random kidnapping. As I know it, my grandmother was never kidnapped. Thus, she was never kidnapped and then murdered or something.”

Cedric closed his eyes. “What _exactly_ do you see in these nightmares?” he wanted to know.

She didn’t answer straightaway. “It’s quite blurry,” Cloudia told him. “I cannot remember it very well.”

“Just tell me what you can remember.”

“Someone is trying to get me,” she whispered. “I... I... I try to get away. Somebody screams. I don’t know who. They get closer... closer and closer...”

He rubbed her back again when she started to shiver. “It’s okay. I am here. Just continue.”

“It’s dark. I have no idea where I am. I... I say something, but I don’t hear my own voice. I only hear others. But I cannot make out the words because they mumble. Someone tries to reach out to me... I cannot move anymore. And some time later... my grandmother appears.” She paused. “She’s... she’s trying to tell me something, but I cannot hear her, I can only hear the mumbling which grows louder and louder with every second. And then... and then...”

Cedric knew that she wouldn’t go any further with her story, but he still kept holding her in his arms, and Cloudia didn’t protest against it. They stayed in this position for a long time until Cloudia fell asleep. Carefully, Cedric laid her down and put the blanket over her. Now, she didn’t look restless anymore.

Cedric sat back down on his chair, turning off the lamp. It was now pitch-black in the hotel room, but he didn’t go back to his own room to sleep.

“Merry Christmas, Countess,” Cedric whispered in the dark and stayed sitting on his chair for the rest of the night.

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_Cedric and I went very early to Edinburgh’s Royal Botanic Garden. It had been founded in 1670 at St. Anne’s Yard near Holyrood Palace for the purpose of growing medical plants, making it the second oldest botanical garden in Great Britain after the University of Oxford Botanic Garden which had been founded in 1621. In 1820, the Royal Botanic Garden had moved to its current location in Inverleith._

_We went to the Glasshouse for the Orchids and Cycads where we would meet with Ladarius Parks to discuss our plan for today. While we were waiting, Cedric and I marvelled over the wonderful cycads which dominated the glasshouse._

 

 

“Did you know that cycads had already existed when dinosaurs walked on the planet?” Cloudia asked Cedric while opening her coat and putting out her Japanese fan to cool herself down. Outside, it had been freezing, but inside the glasshouse, it was quite hot – or at least it seemed like it was as it was very humid.

“No, I didn’t,” Cedric answered her and inspected the little plants which grew on the ground.

“Cycads grow very, very slowly,” Cloudia continued her lecture. “Also, I’ve read once that some cycads in this glasshouse are over two hundred years old.”

“That’s quite old,” he meant. “ _I’m_ not even two hundred years old.”

Cloudia froze and stared at Cedric who examined the plants while humming something. It was some Christmas song.

 

 

_This was the first time that he had given me a hint for his true age. My heart beat faster in my chest._

 

 

“My, my, Lady Cloudia,” Cedric suddenly said behind her. Cloudia faintly flinched and whirled around to look into his grinning face. She would have _loved_ to punch him for suddenly appearing behind her, even though he had been standing several metres in front her a few seconds ago. Unfortunately, she couldn’t as they weren’t the only ones who visited the Royal Botanic Garden on Christmas Eve. The ward hadn’t been very pleased to see any guests today.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Cedric stated, holding a little tote bag under her nose. “Want to have a biscuit?”

Cloudia scowled. “I would prefer punching your grin from your face.”

He chuckled. “My, my...” He leaned closer to her so that nobody could hear him except her. “... _Countess_. Don’t be so grumpy. Have a biscuit, _please_.”

Cedric stepped a bit back and looked directly into Cloudia’s eyes. His wonderful green eyes shone in the glasshouse’s light in the way which always made her forget everything for a second.

“You need to eat something,” Cedric said. “You haven’t eaten breakfast properly again.”

 

 

 _Oh._ That’s _what he wanted._

 

 

Cloudia sighed and took the tote bag from him. “Very well, Duke. I will eat your biscuits. Are you satisfied now?”

He grinned widely. “I am.” Cheerily, Cedric linked arms with her. “After all, if you don’t eat and starve to death, I won’t have anyone to talk to anymore.”

 

***

 

“I apologise for letting you wait, Lady Phantomhive,” Ladarius Parks said when he approached Cloudia and Cedric approximately twenty minutes later. He was a very tall and thin man with shoulder-long black hair which was kept in a ponytail and light green eyes behind circular glasses.

 

 

_He knew about me. About my true title and my position as the Watchdog. Because of the Yard’s stupidity, I had been forced to tell Ladarius everything so that he would entrust me with everything he knew. After all, why should he trust some noblewoman with the task to find his beloved son, if said noblewoman wasn’t way more competent than Scotland Yard, and secretly working for the Queen as her personal detective and assassin?_

_But, of course, I had told him_ _– even threatened him a bit – not to reveal my_ _“secret identity” to anyone. Hence, he referred to me as “Lady Phantomhive” as we weren’t alone._

 

 

“It’s all right, Earl of Ceybury,” Cloudia told him, a sweet smile on her lips. “May I introduce my colleague and partner, Duke Kristopher Underwood, to you?”

Cedric and Ladarius shook hands. “It’s an honour to meet you, Earl,” Cedric said.

“The honour’s all mine,” Ladarius replied politely, although he was looking quite distressed.

 

 

_The poor man. Definitely, he hadn’t slept through a single night since his son’s disappearance._

 

 

Cloudia tilted her head and grinned widely at Ladarius and Cedric. “With us all here, I can finally instruct you about the _brilliant_ plan I have come up with to rescue your beloved Joey, Earl...”

 

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_Cloudia hadn’t told me anything about her plan beforehand. And when I looked at her while she had this wicked grin on her lips, I was quite afraid what she would let me do._

_The Earl of Ceybury also seemed fairly nervous about it. He might not know Cloudia, but he surely did notice the strange aura coming from her_ _–_ _or at least my uneasiness._

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_St. Margaret’s Chapel was the oldest building in Scotland. The chapel had been built during the reign of David I, the fourth son of Saint Margaret of Scotland, to honour his mother. Saint Margaret or “The Pearl of Scotland” had married Malcolm III of Scotland in 1070 at the age of twenty-five which had been quite old for a person at that time. Together, they had had eight children. Prior to their marriage, Saint Margaret had held the title of “Princess of Wessex.” She had been a very pious woman who had done charitable works. In 1250, 157 years after her death, Margaret had even been canonised by Pope Innocent IV “for her personal holiness,” her charitable works, and her religious reforms._

_And, now, we would use her little chapel for a ransom transfer, to catch a few criminals, and, eventually, to beat the hell out of them during the interrogation._

_The place where I was hiding in was quite narrow. However, I had still managed to fit in it, but it was horribly uncomfortable. At least, I had chosen to wear pants instead of a dress for this mission._

_In this very moment, while I was hiding, Ladarius was standing in front of the chancel with a suitcase containing the ransom. He was surely nervous, even though I had instructed him to be calm as everything would go well._

_Such a pity that there was no way to secretly communicate with him._

 

 

 

**~Ladarius~**

 

Ladarius Parks, the Earl of Ceybury, heard steps. His grip on the suitcase tightened. If he wasn’t getting Joseph back, he wouldn’t pay a single penny. Some time later, a man entered the chapel. He was wearing a mask and plain clothes but was huge and broad. It was quite dark in the chapel so that Ladarius could only dimly see the man. There wasn’t anybody with him. Not in the chapel, not outside of it. Ladarius loudly stamped on the ground.

“Are you alone?” the man demanded to know.

Ladarius had taken a deep breath before he spoke. “I am. This is a fairly small chapel, so there is no way that someone could be hiding in here. Also, I assume that you’ve examined the area around the chapel for police officers? Then, you shouldn’t have found anyone. I came alone like you wanted.”

The man grinned. “Let’s see. And, hopefully, you didn’t dare to lie to me. If I don’t return to my pals in an hour, they will murder your boy immediately.” He examined the chapel and even looked behind the altar before he went back to his old position in front of the entrance. While he had inspected everything, the man hadn’t forgotten to keep an eye on Ladarius.

“See? No one’s here except you and me,” Ladarius said. “And did someone tell you that you’re slightly paranoiac?”

“Do you have the money?” the man asked, ignoring the remark.

Ladarius gulped. “It’s all here,” he replied, lifting the suitcase. “Now, tell me where Joseph is.”

The man shook his head. “Not before you’ve shown me that the money is really in the suitcase.”

With trembling fingers, Ladarius carefully opened the suitcase a bit and showed the content to the man before closing it again. “See? It’s all there. Now, give me Joseph back.”

“First the money, then the boy.” The man waved with a folded piece of paper. “I’ve written down your boy’s location. Give me the money, and I give you the paper.”

Ladarius narrowed his eyes. His green eyes shone behind the glasses. “Show me that there is really something written on it.”

The man unfolded the piece of paper, stepped closer, and held it out to Ladarius so that he could see the paper’s content in the dark. He took a glimpse at it – indeed, there was an address on it –, but the man withdrew the paper and went back to his original position before Ladarius could memorise the address.

“Now, the money.” The man reached out to the suitcase, but Ladarius quickly stepped back and put the suitcase behind him, not loosening his grip on it.

“No,” he firmly said. “I want the paper first. After all, what ensures me that you will certainly hand the paper over after I’ve given you the suitcase with the ransom? Right – _nothing_. I, on the other hand, am quite desperate to have Joseph back, so I would _definitely_ give you the suitcase after receiving the paper. Besides, you’re broader and surely stronger than me, _and_ you are blocking the exit, so I could neither fight you nor flee after getting the paper.”

The man was silent for a moment. “Very well,” he eventually replied and stepped forward to give Ladarius the paper, but Ladarius walked backwards and inside the chancel.

“I’ve thought about it,” Ladarius announced. “What ensures me that I can find Joseph at the place whose address is written on the paper? It could be the address of _any_ place. It could even be a fictional address. And what ensures me that Joseph is still alive? You could have already slit his throat and thrown his corpse into the Thames. No, no. If I don’t have any security that I will _definitely_ get Joseph back, I will keep my money. I won’t finance some moro... I mean _criminals_ so that they can keep on kidnapping innocent children.” He shook his head. “I wish you a merry Christmas, the merriest in your entire life, even though our deal just died like the squirrel in your coat. Hopefully, there _is_ a dead squirrel in your coat. If there’s not, you urgently need to bath.”

Ladarius could see a vein pulsing on the man’s forehead, while the man furiously took out a knife from his smelly coat pocket and sprinted towards Ladarius. Apparently, the man had lost his patience with Ladarius and was fine with killing him and taking the money. But before the man could stab Ladarius, the Earl jumped backwards until his back collided with the altar. Now, he couldn’t go any further, and the man still blocked the way to the exit. Ladarius was trapped.

“You can’t escape anymore, _Earl_ ,” the man hissed and struck out with his knife, but the knife’s blade never sunk into Ladarius’ chest. Instead, the man cut the altar cloth.

“I am here!” Ladarius shouted from the exit. The suitcase was standing right next to him. When the man turned around to face him, Ladarius happily waved at him.

“How did you...” the man began, absolutely puzzled, but was cut off when someone came out of the altar.

“You should _definitely_ take a bath,” Countess Cloudia Phantomhive whispered into the man’s ear, pressing the cold blade of the dagger against his throat while his horrible fragrance invaded her nose.

 

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_The altar had been a fake._

_I had told Ladarius to meet Cedric and me at the Botanic Garden at a very early hour so that we could make the needed preparations for getting a fake altar and switching it out with the real one. It had been quite easy because the altar wasn’t very large and not in-ground. The fake altar was more like a large and heavy box with a lid. Right before the exchange, I had gone into the box, and Ladarius had closed the lid and put the altar cloth on it so that everything would seem normal._

_The kidnappers had demanded in their note that Ladarius should come alone, but we didn’t have any way to ensure Ladarius’ safety. Therefore, I had come up with the little “trick with the box.” No one would check if someone was sitting_ inside _an altar after all. And, of course, no one would suspect that someone had switched out an altar with a fake one._

_If the kidnapper was alone, Ladarius had to stamp on the ground so that I would know it. And if the kidnapper attacked Ladarius, I had instructed him to “shake” the box in a possible way so that I would know and come to his rescue. I couldn’t hear anything when I was inside the box after all._

_Or at least not_ everything _._

_Now, the kidnapper was lying on the ground, hogtied._

 

 

Cloudia sighed and crossed her arms in front of her chest when Ladarius approached her and stopped when he was standing next to her. “Please,” she said, looking up at him, “tell me that you have never thought about becoming an actor.”

Ladarius laughed. “Was I that bad?”

She nodded. “Yes, you were. You kept making so many mistakes that I nearly passed out in the box. And then, I couldn’t even hear _everything_ you’ve said.”

“But I did as you told me and fought the urge to laugh all the time.”

“‘And did someone tell you that you’re slightly paranoiac?’ Ladarius would _never_ say such a thing. Or anything else you’ve said. ‘It could be the address of _any_ place. It could even be a fictional address.’ is another example. Or ‘I won’t finance some moro... I mean _criminals_ so that they can keep on kidnapping innocent children.’” Cloudia scowled at him. “Do you want me to continue?”

“Ladarius” laughed. “I was just trying to imitate _you_ , Countess. I don’t really know Ladarius, so I thought that I could try doing the same hilarious thing _you_ always do when you’ve cornered a culprit and are about to murder him or her.”

Her scowl deepened. If gazes could kill, he would have surely died numerous times in the past months. “I _never_ say such things. And now, please take off that silly disguise.”

“Ladarius” giggled and took off the wig. Immediately, long grey hair fell over his shoulders.

“As you wish, Countess,” Cedric Rossdale replied before he burst into laughter.

 

 

 _Naturally, I in the box wasn’t the only way to secure that nothing would happen to Ladarius. Especially, if it came to happen that Ladarius and Cedric were physically quite similar: They were about the same height, both were quite slender, both were pale, had green eyes, and wore glasses. Of course, Cedric’s eyes didn’t have the same green tone as Ladarius’ as Cedric’s were phosphorescent and actually chartreuse. Besides, Cedric wore rectangular glasses while Ladarius’ had round ones. But glasses could be switched_ _– in this case, we even had to get Cedric a pair of circular glasses as Ladarius was far-sighted and not near-sighted – and regular people usually couldn’t tell apart faint hue differences. Particularly when it was dark._

 _For the_ _“_ _phosphorescent part,_ _” I had just hoped that the kidnapper simply wouldn’t notice. Due to the fact that I hadn’t slept very well lately, I hadn’t been able to figure anything out for that._

_Besides, as a Grim Reaper, Cedric could sense people, so he was the only one who could say if someone was with the man, but waiting outside the chapel. And him being a Grim Reaper was another reason why I had to hide in the box: The rules of the Grim Reapers said that they weren’t allowed to interfere with life and death, meaning i.a. that they couldn’t kill anyone. Although Cedric kept telling me that he could fight people as long as he didn’t kill them, I still didn’t let him engage in any fights if it could be avoided._

 

 

Cloudia kicked against the man’s head. “We don’t have forever, so tell us where we can find Joseph Parks, the Viscount of Weston.”

The man grinned at her. “I won’t tell you anything, you dirty bi...”

She kicked him again. “I said that _we don’t have forever_. Actually, I am not in the mood to torture you right now, but if you don’t start talking right now, I will rip out _your finger- and toenails one by one_. I will do it slowly and as painfully as I manage. And when you still don’t want to speak, I will _peel off your skin_. Just like a potato. Except that, you’re not eatable. Not even cooked.” Cloudia bent down to the man and smiled wickedly. “I can practically hear you peeing in your pants. You don’t want to be peeled, do you? You want to keep your nails, do you? You don’t want to die looking like a pile of flesh, right? If you don’t want to lose your nails and skin, I suggest that you’ll tell me where I can find Joseph Parks.”

 

***

 

“That was easy,” Cedric said while Cloudia and he headed to David’s Tower, another part of Edinburgh Castle.

“Wasn’t it? This man surely has no will power,” she replied, glancing at the unconscious man Cedric carried on his shoulder. Like a little baby, the man had told them that the address on the paper was indeed misleading and that his accomplices held Joseph captive in David’s Tower. Then, he had passed out which had made Cloudia sigh. Nevertheless, she had instructed Cedric to take the man with them – just in case that if he had lied to them, she could wake him up and torture him this time for sure.

“I still cannot believe it that you’ve compared him to a _potato_.” Cedric chuckled.

Cloudia shrugged. “I reckon that you put something in your biscuits.”

“And why, Countess?”

“It would explain your behaviour. Or why even _I_ did such a foolish thing as comparing someone to a _potato_.”

Cedric burst into laughter.

 

 

_If the other kidnappers heard his laughter and surprise attacked us because of it, I would kill Cedric before they could._

 

***

 

It had been far too easy for Cloudia to knock out all kidnappers. It had been outright boring to fight them. With a sigh, Cloudia told Cedric to tie them up.

“You won’t _kill_ them?” he asked her with a frown.

“Why should I? I’m not in the mood to dirty my hands. Also, it’s Christmas Eve, and a few Scotland Yard officers are waiting at the Botanic Garden to get these criminals. _They_ can deal with them. And when we’re back in London, I will personally go to the Queen and request her to get the kidnappers isolated so that they would dehydrate and starve. It will be a long and painful death.”

Cedric shook his head with a grin on his lips. “You almost let me think that you would simply let them get imprisoned.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “For kidnapping an innocent boy? For separating a poor ten-year-old child from his beloved family on Christmas Eve? No. I would never just let them get imprisoned. I don’t like people who try hurting others through their loved ones. They’re just pathetic.” She grinned widely. “Therefore, I don’t let them get isolated _right now_. I love the thought of them thinking that they will only get imprisoned.” As soon as she finished her sentence, Cloudia let Cedric alone with the criminals and went to search for Joseph. Before she had knocked out the last kidnapper, she had got her to confess that Joseph was alive in another room of David’s Tower.

Finally, she got any _good_ news.

 

 

Joseph Parks looked horrified when Cloudia found him in a small room in David’s Tower. He was shackled to the wall, and his big blue eyes stared at her. He was absolutely frightened and was desperately trying to figure out if she was here to help him or to end his short life.

It broke her heart.

Cloudia slowly walked towards him and hunkered down next to him. She extended an arm, and lovingly ruffled his dirty black hair. Joseph flinched under her touch, and she quickly pulled her hand away. His blue eyes reflected nothing but fear. She bit her lips.

“Your father sent me to find you,” she softly told him, and Joseph’s eyes widened. “Father?” he whispered.

Cloudia nodded. “Yes, your father. He’s waiting for you. You’re safe now, Joseph. You don’t need to be afraid anymore.” She smiled sweetly, and this time it was an honest, sweet smile. “I am here now. And I secure you that no one will hurt you.”

She offered him her hand. “Do you trust me?”

Joseph gazed at her for a long time, until he moved one of his shackled hands as close as possible to her hand so that he could press his palm against hers. Cloudia could feel the coldness of his little hand and the faint shudder running through Joseph’s body, but the boy looked as determined as he could at this moment, when he gazed at her and said: “I do.”

 

 

After Cloudia had freed Joseph from the shackles, she carefully helped him to stand up. She took his small hand in hers, and together they walked to the room where Cedric was. He was done hogtying the kidnappers and waved at Cloudia when she and Joseph approached. The little boy’s grip tightened when he saw his kidnappers.

“It’s okay,” she gently told him. “Didn’t I promise that I will ensure that no one will hurt you?” Again, she smiled at him and felt Joseph relaxing. He even struggled to smile faintly at her.

“Duke,” Cloudia said to Cedric. “Could you please go and tell the Scotland Yard officers that they should come and fetch the culprits? Oh, and please make sure that they bring the Earl.”

Cedric blinked at her and Joseph. “Are you sure that you want to wait here?”

She nodded. “Sure. We cannot leave the criminals unguarded after all. Even if they are tied up.” Cloudia grinned at Joseph. “Also, it’s not like I don’t have company, so don’t worry about me.”

Cedric looked at them for a while before he left David’s Tower and headed to the Royal Botanic Garden.

Joseph hesitantly pulled on Cloudia’s coat. “W... what is your name?” he asked her with trembling lips.

“Cloudia,” she answered him, sounding as friendly as she could.

“Th... thank you for saving me, Cloudia.” His face lit up for a second.

She chuckled lightly. “You’re welcome, Joseph.”

“You’re very pretty,” he murmured and made Cloudia chuckle again.

“Thank you very much.” She ruffled his hair. “You’re a very cute boy, did anybody tell you that? Surely, you’ll grow to be a very handsome man.”

“Thank you.” His cheeks slightly turned red.

They sat down on the ground, and Cloudia leaned against the cold wall while Joseph leaned against her.

“Will my father come?” he wanted to know. He was asking so silently, she could barely understand him, although they were sitting so closely.

 

 

_I almost regretted not to have killed the kidnappers immediately._

 

 

“He will. The man with the grey hair, Duke Underwood, went to get him.” Cloudia patted Joseph’s head.

“Is he your boyfriend?” Joseph blurted out. Immediately, he put a hand in front of his mouth and apologised. Cloudia chuckled. “Do you know _how many_ people have already asked me this question? I got used to it, so you don’t need to apologise.”

“And is he?”

She sighed. “You’re a very curious boy, aren’t you?”

Joseph grinned at her, and she was happy that he was already able to do something like that again.

“No, he’s not,” Cloudia replied and brushed a streak of hair out of his face. “He’s not my boyfriend, nor he’s my fiancé or my husband. We’re colleagues.”

The little boy’s cheeks reddened again. “If you’re not going to marry him,” he shyly asked her. “Can _I_ marry you?”

With a sad expression on her face, Cloudia ruffled his hair again.

“Believe me – you don’t want to marry me.”

 

***

 

Half an hour later, Cedric returned with the Scotland Yard officers who hauled off the kidnappers and, of course, Cedric had also brought Ladarius with him.

“Joey!” the Earl shouted, and tears of joy glittered in the corners of his eyes when he saw his little son safe and sound in Cloudia’s arms.

Hearing his name, Joseph, who had dozed off a few minutes ago, woke up and raised his head. “Father!” he exclaimed with widened eyes. He stood up and father and son embraced each other.

Cloudia sat up and watched Ladarius’ and Joseph’s happy reunion. Cedric walked towards her and helped her up.

“My, my,” he said, an amused smile on his lips. “Are you becoming emotional?”

She scowled at him.

“Lady Phantomhive,” Ladarius suddenly said, making them turn towards him. The Earl had scoped up his son and tightly pressed his small frame against him. As if he was afraid, that if he stopped holding him, he would lose him again. And perhaps he was.

“There are no words in the world to express my gratitude to you, Lady Phantomhive,” Ladarius told her, on the edge of breaking out in tears. “But I still want to thank you for bringing back my son. I will forever owe you something.”

Cloudia smiled, and when Joseph reached out to her, she took his small hand in hers. “I just did my job, Earl of Ceybury,” she replied. “You don’t need to owe me something. Just... just promise me that you will be the best father in the world for Joseph, and that... and that you will never let him go.”

Tears flowed down Ladarius’ cheeks. “I will, I will!”

Cloudia pressed a soft kiss on Joseph’s forehead. “Please don’t make any trouble, okay, Joseph?”

His ears turned bright red. “I... I... yes! Yes, I will _never_ do any trouble. I promise.”

She smiled at him.

“I think it’s time for us to go,” Ladarius announced, looking terribly sad. “It has got quite late. Thank you, Duke Underwood, Lady Phantomhive, for everything that you’ve done. I hope that, someday, we will meet again. I wish you two a merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Cloudia!” Joseph yelled after her, frantically waving at her.

“Merry Christmas, Joseph,” she replied, returning his wave.

Then, they left the tower and were gone.

Cedric burst out into laughter.

“Got yourself a new admirer, didn’t you?”

“Oh, just shut up.”

He chuckled. “I guess, it’s time for us to go too. The night’s still young. We will go back to the hotel, take a bath, change into some fresh clothes, and then I’ll invite you to a fine restaurant. How do you like this idea?”

Cloudia sighed. “It would be nice if it wasn’t _my_ money you would waste.”

Cedric grinned at her. “Don’t be so grumpy. It’s Christmas after all.”

“And we’re going back to London in _three days_ , so we can go to a restaurant _tomorrow_. I just want to sleep right now.”

He shook his head. “No. Because you didn’t eat properly lately, I cannot let you skip dinner.”

She sighed. “You just want to have dessert, admit it.”

“You know me so well, Countess. Hihi,” he giggled.

Cloudia rolled her eyes. “Good heavens, will you _ever_ stop being annoying?”

“Never,” he answered her with a chuckle.

She sighed again. “I cannot believe it that I have managed to endure you for almost a year now.”

He grinned widely at her, even showing his teeth. “And another year will come!”

With a theatrically horrified look, Cloudia stared at him. “And another year will come!”

Cedric laughed loudly and put an arm around her waist.

Then, they vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Puh. A few references for future chapters were in this one, but hopefully you didn't mind. (These future chapters still belong to the Inner London Murders Arc.)
> 
> I mapped out what Cloudia and Cedric would do during their first Christmas together a long time ago, but never really thought about writing it down. Well, but I also always do crazy Christmas chapters for at least one of my ongoing stories, and my other ideas included characters who didn't even appear yet... so I stuck to this one.
> 
> Actually, this chapter was finished yesterday, but I didn't want to publish it without having looked over it at least once. (It was finished quite late yesterday, so I couldn't do it yesterday.) I'm actually quite happy for my decision not to update it panic-fulled, because there were really silly mistakes in it... like "The poor man. Definitely he hadn't slept through a single night since his son's death.".
> 
> I hope you all had a nice Christmas! And I wish you a very happy new year! (￣▽￣)ノ


	8. The Countess, Celebrating

_“Her family had always been a cheery lot.”_

* * *

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ April 1847**

 

 

_I knew that today would be a noisy day from the moment I opened my eyes and saw the sun shining through the curtains._

_Lisa Greene, my faithful, loyal, and competent maid, entered my room just a moment later. She heated up water for me so that I could take a bath. Then, Lisa helped me getting dressed and coiffed. Lisa wasn’t a very talkative person, but when I started talking to her, she always found a way to answer me in a sophisticated way. Also, Lisa had very nimble hands and could button up my dress in less than a minute. Besides, she could tailor quite nice clothing. She was only a year older than me and already did her work brilliantly. I surely did great when I had employed her two years ago._

_After I had finished breakfast, Lisa announced to me that the Duke and Duchess of Lanchester, together with their daughter, had arrived earlier in the morning, along with the Viscount and Viscountess of Wellington and the Baron and Baroness Woodward with their respective families. Even the Earl of Venetella and his wife had come._

_And before Lisa had finished speaking, I knew that I had been right._

 

_My mother was the third out of four sisters who had all married into noble families which was the reason why I could call quite a lot of important and famous people my family. However, this also meant that my family was rather big with all the aunts and uncles and cousins. What lacked me on the Phantomhive side of my family, was filled by the Houghton side._

_After all, my father had been an only child, rather than “officially” being the elder brother of someone._

_Before Lisa led me to the drawing room so that I could greet my family and get a headache from which I needed a week to recover, she told me that someone else had arrived for me – a man called Duke Kristopher Underwood._

 

_“Duke Kristopher Underwood” was no one else than Cedric K. Rossdale – the Grim Reaper with whom I had made a deal. I had given him a fake name and identity soon after our arrangement._

_The whole procedure of teaching him how to behave like a duke had swallowed up a lot of time, but in the end, I had been successful, and Cedric presentable. At least, I could drag him with me now without getting embarrassed – a death sentence for someone like me._

 

Cloudia walked to the entrance hall where Cedric stood, waiting for her in his lovely tailored clothes. She had told him to wear proper clothing and not his oversized Grim Reaper outfit when visiting or accompanying her.

“Welcome to my mansion, Duke Underwood,” Cloudia greeted him, smiling her mischievous smile.

“Thank you for receiving me as a guest, Countess.” He bowed in front of her, and she bet that he wanted to laugh quite badly due to that, but had to hold back as it was not the right moment to do such a thing.

 

 

_Cedric was my investigative partner. Almost four months ago, we had investigated murders in Inner London, particularly in Westminster, Islington, and Camden. After that, Her Majesty the Queen had only given me three more cases as the Underworld had seemingly taken a break. He had helped me during all these cases. And even if there wasn’t anything to do, Cedric would still come and visit me if his Grim Reaper duties allowed it._

_Our partnership wasn’t official by now. Only Lisa and Newman knew about it as they were the only two servants of the Phantomhive Household who actively helped me with my Watchdog duties. I hadn’t even introduced Cedric to the Queen or my other partners, his fellow colleagues – “The Aristocrats of Evil.”_

_And, certainly, my family didn’t know about him either._

_Apart from my cousin, the Countess of Venetella, and her husband who Cedric and I had accidentally met during the Inner London Murder case._

 

“Today, I will not have any time for Watchdog work,” Cloudia said to Cedric. “So you can go home and do what Grim Reapers usually do. Hopefully, you’re not too disappointed by the lack of work.”

Cedric grinned. “Well, Mylady, I know fairly well that you’re not able to fulfil any of your Watchdog duties today. After all, Alfred told me why.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Newman?”

He nodded. “I asked him a few things about you during our last case. Of course, he didn’t want to tell me anything without your approval at first, but I managed to persuade him to give me at least this one little piece of information as it would _definitely improve his Lady’s well-being_. So...” Cedric’s grin widened. “I wish you a wonderful day as the 5th of April marks your seventeenth birthday, Countess.”

 

 

_We were working together for around four months now and got along quite well. My plan was absolutely successful, and I would never regret my decision to have made a deal with a Grim Reaper._

_Also, Cedric seemed to be quite pleased about our arrangement too._

_And, apparently, today was the day when I would have to introduce him to the rest of my family._

_At least, I wouldn’t be tortured alone._

 

 

“Do not remind me of that,” Cloudia replied, sighing. “Every year, I wish for quietness and order; and every year, I get a headache due to my noisy family.”

Cedric covered his mouth with his gloved hand and giggled decently as she had taught him. She hadn’t been able to break him out of his ridiculous habit to laugh or giggle all the time, but at least it had worked to reduce it a bit. However, every time they were alone, his habit broke out again. “You’re a really grumpy person, aren’t you, Countess? My, my, your family comes from far away to make you smile and happy for this special day, and all you can do is being even grumpier than usual.”

She glared at him. “Stop the teasing already, Cedric. I have no time or patience for your little games today.”

Cloudia turned to Lisa. “Lisa! Due to the exceptionally lovely weather we can enjoy today, I guess that my family members arranged some festivity in the manor’s garden?”

The maid nodded. “The Duke and Duchess of Lanchester, the Earl and Countess of Venetella, the Viscount and Viscountess of Wellington, the Baron and Baroness Woodward, and their children have set up a festivity together with us servants in the garden, Young Mistress.” She could hear the annoyance in Lisa’s voice. To have to list Cloudia’s family members appropriately with their titles was always quite bothersome.

Cloudia sighed. “Like I feared.” She turned back to Cedric. “I hereby invite you to the festivities of my seventeenth birthday, Duke Underwood. Do you accept?”

Cedric chuckled. “I accept, Countess.”

 

***

 

“Happy birthday, Cloudia!” her cousins, her aunts and uncles yelled and clapped, when Cloudia arrived in the garden with Lisa and Cedric.

“Oh, I thank you so much, dear family!” she replied, smiling lovely. “But you shouldn’t have put so much effort in a mere birthday!”

“What are you saying, Cloudia!” Her cousin, Lady Constantia Matthews, the only child of the Duke and Duchess of Lanchester, ran up to her and hugged her tightly. She was a year older and slightly taller than Cloudia. However, even though Constantia had never been trained like Cloudia, Constantia was surely no weakling. Cloudia gasped for air under her hug, and she could bet and win that Cedric was silently laughing to himself at this sight.

“Today is your _birthday_ , Cloudia! You are _seventeen_ now! Is that not _marvellous_?”

Constantia let her cousin go, and smiled widely at her. “We haven’t seen each other for a while now! I am so happy that we are all together now.”

“Constantia! Were you trying to kill her with that act of yours just now? Didn’t you see that she had problems to _breathe_?”

Another one of Cloudia’s cousins, The Honourable Clarissa Woodward, came over to them from the other end of the garden. Her glasses were glowing while she was glaring at them in the sunlight. As usual, Clarissa was scolding Constantia’s behaviour, although she could be just as noisy as her.

“Of course, I didn’t try to _kill_ her, Lare! I was simply _hugging_ her! Or did a hug become a murderous act?” Constantia replied.

“Calm down. There’s no need to fight,” Cathleen Milne said, and walked up to them. Her natural calm aura had already started to spread over the place.

“Congratulations, Cloudia,” Cathleen said to Cloudia in her sweet voice, which made everyone fall in love with her immediately. “Today is your big day.”

“Thank you, Cathleen,” Cloudia replied, smiling. “And you too, Constantia and Clarissa. I thank you all for coming.”

She turned to Constantia. “Come to think of it... I don’t see Celeste anywhere.”

“Lessie is at home,” Constantia answered, sounding sad. “She is terribly sorry for not being able to come. She caught a fever, and is unable to leave her bed for the next couple of days.”

 

 

_Miss Celeste Triton was the ward of my aunt Eleanor and her husband – Isidore Matthews, the Duke of Lanchester. Her father, Ebenezer Triton, had been a good friend to Uncle Isidore. And after Ebenezer had died, Isidore took his only daughter under his wings, as her mother, Camilla Triton, had died due to an illness when Celeste was nothing more than a helpless, little child._

_However, Celeste had inherited her mother’s poor health and therefore was often sick._

_And did I mention that it was quite funny that her name also started with a “C”?_

 

 

Cloudia nodded, her face displaying concern for her uncle’s ward. “Please tell the lovely Celeste that I hope that she will get well soon.”

Constantia’s face lit up. “I _will_! Lessie will be _so_ happy to hear that!”

“And what about _me_? Won’t you thank _me_ individually, Cousin Cloudia?” Ceara asked furiously. She had just pounded towards them after hearing that Cloudia had thanked the others for coming but not her.

The Honourable Ceara Morrow, the daughter of the Viscount and Viscountess of Wellington, was the youngest member of Cloudia’s family, and a very jumpy, lively, and a bit boyish young girl with wild, fire red hair, and fierce pale blue eyes.

And exactly with those, Ceara glared at Cloudia, who was a lot taller than her, with her hands on her hips.

“Of course. Thank you, Ceara, for coming.”

“That was about time,” Ceara snorted.

“Pff, you’re such a brat, Ceara,” her brother, Keegan, sighed. “You come and annoy the birthday kid before even saying ‘hi.’”

The Honourable Keegan Morrow was Ceara’s older brother, and older than Cloudia as well. He was Cloudia’s only male cousin, and the only one apart from her who had inherited the large, dark blue signature eyes of the Houghton family.

After all, she didn’t have a male cousin on her father’s side of the family.

Ceara’s face turned as red as her hair. “I’m not a _brat_! You’re a...”

And then, the two of them started shouting at each other in Irish, making it impossible for Cloudia and the others to follow.

 

 

_My mother and her three sisters – Eleanor, Felicity, and Joanna – had decided a long time ago, before any of them had been wedded, that they would give their children names starting with a “C” as some connection. After all, they would never be connected by their surnames. And for Keegan, the only male, Felicity hadn’t chosen a name starting with “C,” but with the letter closest to it._

 

 

“Who did you bring to our family feast, Cousin Cloudia?” Ceara wanted to know and eyed Cedric suspiciously. Usually, pale blue eyes looked calm and relaxing, but she somehow managed to let them burn like fire. And with that fire, she tried to torch Cedric.

“This is Duke Kristopher Underwood. He is an acquaintance of mine. We have met, for the first time, at one of Josephine Conner’s, the Duchess of Caville’s, parties. Then, for a couple of years, the Duke and I could only write letters as he originally lived in America before his move to England. In January, the Duke moved permanently to London, and we were reunited at one of Baron Charles Worthington’s parties,” Cloudia told Ceara.

“Oh, do you _like_ him, Cloudia? Are you going to _marry_ him? Is _that_ the reason why he is here? Because he should meet your family as your future husband? That is so _wonderful_!” Constantia yelled, and happily hugged Cloudia again. “I am so _happy_ for you, Cloudia! _Congratulations!_ ”

“ _Constantia_! What are you _saying_? Cloudia is already betrothed to the Earl of Phantomhive!” Clarissa scolded, and helped Cloudia to get free from Constantia’s grip.

She giggled. “Oh, I almost forgot that. Thanks for the reminder, Lare.” Constantia turned to Cedric.

“Duke Underwood, it is a pleasure to meet you. I am Lady Constantia Matthews, the only daughter of the Duke and Duchess of Lanchester.” She curtsied in front of him in all her grace, and Cedric almost started to laugh hysterically.

He cleared his throat. “My, my, it’s a way bigger pleasure to meet _you_ , Lady Constantia. And your lovely cousins. It’s a pleasure to be able to meet you _all_.” Cedric bowed in front of Cloudia’s cousins. Constantia giggled like a little child, Clarissa lowered her head a bit to indicate a bow, Cathleen smiled sweetly at him, Ceara glared at him, and Keegan folded his arms in front of his chest and looked as grumpily as he could.

Cloudia sighed.

 

 

_What a mess._

 

 

“Very well. Duke, do you feel like accompanying me? I still have to greet my aunts and uncles, and would do it preferably without any of my cousins.”

 

***

 

After Cedric and Cloudia had talked with her various uncles and aunts, she took him by the arm and hurled him all the way to the labyrinth of tall hedges in the garden. As a little child, she had spent most of her time there. And even after so many years, this place was still special to her.

“One more minute, and I will explode,” Cloudia said and sat down on a bench in the middle of the labyrinth. “Constantia doesn’t like this place as she always manages to get lost. Clarissa sees no sense in following me around all day. Ceara and Keegan are banned from here because they have once destroyed the labyrinth because they haven’t been able to find the way out properly. The only dangerous one is Cathleen, but, at least, she has enough patience to let me be on my own for a while.”

Because he no longer had to fight back his urge to laugh, Cedric began to laugh and giggle hysterically.

“ _My, my, Countess!_ Your family is way more hilarious than you are! _Such_ a funny lot! I could be with them _all_ day,” he meant while bursting into laughter after every second word.

Cloudia scowled at him. “They are absolutely _annoying_. At least, they will all go home tomorrow, and I won’t have to see them until any other birthday or feast.”

“You’re so grumpy, Countess. You should laugh more.”

“Well... you laugh enough for the two of us, so me not laughing will be all right.”

The moment after she had finished her sentence, someone shouted her name. And then, moments later, the someone arrived in the part of the labyrinth where Cedric and Cloudia had hidden.

August Milne, the Earl of Venetella, was a lot of years older than his wife, but still trained and sporty. The finely tailored dark suit which he was wearing today made his bright green eyes shine even more.

A smile appeared on his face when he realised that he had finally found them. “Cloudia! Cathy has sent me in here to search for you. But it’s a very big labyrinth, so it took me a while. I should get you because it’s time for tea.” Then, August noticed Cedric and smiled friendly at him, putting forth his hand. “Oh, hello. Didn’t we meet at Baron Salisbury’s party in January? Duke Underwood, was it? It’s a pleasure to meet you again.”

Cedric took a step forward and shook August’s hand. “The pleasure’s all mine, Earl of Venetella.”

Cloudia could hear Cedric laughing in his mind, and rolled her eyes in annoyance.

 

***

 

“So... won’t our sister, Penelope, come down and grant us with her attendance?” Eleanor Matthews, the Duchess of Lanchester, asked, raising her cup to her mouth.

“I am afraid that Mother is still refusing to go outside or to meet people,” Cloudia answered politely.

They were all sitting around a long table which they had set up in the garden. The sun was shining down on them, and the birds were singing their loveliest songs. Yesterday, the sky had been grey, and the air cold; but as if nature was also happily celebrating Cloudia’s birthday, today’s weather was like taken directly out of a novel.

Eleanor, the eldest of the Houghton sisters, sighed. “Penelope should move on. Simon is dead for years now. Staying in her room all day, refusing to see anyone, and only getting swallowed up in her grief cannot be good for her health. But can you go and see her at least, Cloudia, love?”

“Sometimes. But the last time, I’ve been able to go upstairs and into her room without her throwing me out immediately, was weeks ago.”

 

 

_The reason for my mother’s status was not just the death of my father, but the fact that I, her only daughter, her only child, had to fulfil the same duty my father had died for._

 

 

“Penelope is behaving unreasonably. Every other woman would have already moved on. Simon is now almost thirteen years dead. She had enough time to grieve. Also, today is her only daughter’s birthday. She should be here. And not locked tight in her room,” Felicity Morrow, the Viscountess of Wellington and second-eldest of the Houghton sisters, agreed with Eleanor.

“Uncle Simon is already thirteen years dead?” Constantia blurted out. “For me, it seemed that it had not been that long.”

“He is _almost_ thirteen years dead, Darling,” Felicity answered, rolling her eyes. “And don’t you remember? Cloudia, the poor child, was merely four years old when it happened.”

Constantia’s eyes widened. “ _Oh_. How could I be so _foolish_! I am sorry, Cloudia, that I almost forgot that! I am _so sorry_. I did not want to remind you of it!”

Cloudia put down her cup and smiled so sweetly that Constantia would probably get cavities. “It’s fine, Constantia. Let’s continue cherishing this fantastic dinner. Aunt Eleanor, Uncle Isidore, thank you for coming up with such a wonderful composition of dishes. I hope that I’m right with my assumption that you were the ones responsible for the menu?”

Isidore Matthews, the Duke of Lanchester, laughed, his thick moustache dancing above his lips. “You’re as sharp as always, dear Cloudia.”

She smiled. “Thank you, Uncle Isidore.”

“Isn’t it time that the birthday child receives her presents?” Isidore said, standing up. “As the oldest attending person, I, Isidore Matthews, shall start.”

 

 

_The Houghton family had a strange tradition: On birthdays, the presents were given in a particular order – from oldest to youngest – to the birthday child. Behind the child a large table would be placed, on which the presents would be put in the order they had been received. When all gifts had been exchanged, everyone would stand up and sing a song._

_And even though no one held the Houghton name anymore_ _– except Grandmother Hortense who was not here –_ _, the tradition lived on. Isidore, Aidan, and Jonathan, my aunt’s husbands, were quite delighted about this tradition. Hence, they happily participated in it and treated it like one of their own traditions._

_However, this year, Isidore was wrong – he wasn’t the oldest one attending, and thus shouldn’t be starting. But then, I couldn’t possibly tell anyone that Cedric or rather “Kristopher Underwood” was actually some centuries, or at least quite a lot of decades, old._

 

 

After Cloudia had packed out Isidore’s gift, and Lisa had put it silently on the table, Eleanor stood up. “As the second oldest attending person, I, Eleanor Matthews, shall be next.”

After August had finished, Cathleen was about to stand up when suddenly Cedric arose. The profile, Cloudia had constructed for him, contained every aspect a real one also had. From blood types to ancestry, past illnesses, allergies, chronic diseases, favourite things, dead pets, etc. – and thus also birth dates. According to the profile, “Kristopher Underwood” was twenty-five years old, and therefore younger than thirty-year-old August Milne, and older than nineteen-year-old Cathleen Milne.

“As the next oldest attending person,” Cedric proclaimed to everyone’s surprise, “I, Kristopher Underwood, shall be next.”

He walked up to Cloudia, and from the look on his face, he was rolling on the meadow and laughing like a maniac in his mind. Like the tradition said, Cedric bowed in front of her and then held out a small package.

“Shall this ensure your happiness and excellent health for the following year and all the years which would come.”

Cloudia took the present but didn’t open it. A wide grin rested on Cedric’s face, a grin only Cloudia could see before he turned around and went back to his seat. Cloudia ordered Lisa to take the gift and put it on the table when Constantia spoke up.

“Don’t you want to open it, Cloudia?”

Cloudia smiled. “My friend, Duke Underwood, has a horrible taste of humour. I do not want to pack out something in front of you which could possibly give you all a heart attack.”

 

 

_I didn’t expect Cedric to get me something for my birthday. I didn’t even know that he knew about it. So I had no clue what he could possibly give me._

 

 

“As the youngest attending person, I, Ceara Morrow, shall be last.”

After Ceara had given Cloudia her gift, and the exchange procedure was finally done, Ceara returned to her seat and everyone stood up except Cloudia.

And then, everyone began to sing the special Houghton family birthday song and Cloudia was sure that Cedric would explode from laughter every minute.

“Happy birthday...”

When they were done, Cloudia forced herself to put on a brilliant smile.

“Thank you very much, beloved family.”

 

***

 

Exhausted, Cloudia leaned back on her armchair. After it had got late, she had excused herself, saying that she was tired but thankful for the wonderful party, and had gone to her private chambers, which consisted of her bedroom, a dressing room, a bathroom, and an anteroom, filled with bookcases and comfortable seating of every kind.

Cedric had stayed a bit with her family before retreating himself. But because he was a Grim Reaper, he could easily sneak out of his room and enter Cloudia’s without anyone noticing. Now, he was sitting on an end table opposite from her. Immediately after he had come through the window, Cedric had burst into laughter, and now he was wiping away the last of his tears.

“I can’t remember the last time I’ve laughed so much on a single day,” he said. “My, my, Countess, your family is truly hilarious.”

Cloudia sighed. “You already told me that.”

He grinned. “But you and your dear mother are the exceptions. Why doesn’t she come out again?”

Cloudia leaned back and closed her eyes. “Father’s death was a shock to her. Many people do not marry out of love, but, surprisingly, my parents did. And when Father passed away so suddenly, he left a huge emptiness in Mother. She behaved even worse than now back then. After Father’s funeral, I didn’t see her for a whole year. I was so little at that time that I couldn’t even properly mourn for Father. Of course, I was sad that he wasn’t there anymore, but then, I didn’t _really_ know him and didn’t fully understand the situation. Mother, however, knew him the best out of every person in the whole world, so she weeps for him the most.”

She opened her eyes again. “But then, of course, my aunts are right: Mother _is_ behaving irresponsibly. Father is gone for almost thirteen years now.”

“Sometimes, no matter how much time has passed, the wounds you got from losing someone won’t heal.”

Cloudia looked up. All of a sudden, Cedric had said something in an all serious manner. And when she looked at him, his yellow-green eyes were sparkling with seriousness. The next time she blinked, it was gone again, and he looked like always.

Cedric blinked at a vase with white lilies in it, his lips forming a smile. He whistled. “Were these flowers sent from a certain someone to a certain someone who celebrates her seventeenth birthday today?” He chuckled.

Cloudia sighed. “You are right. They are from Milton.”

“By the way... what is the good old Baron Milton doing after his villa blew up?”

She leaned back. “He’s currently living in his manor in the countryside. The Salisbury Villa still had not been rebuilt; not even plans had been made for it because Milton is still uncertain about rebuilding it. He never really liked it, but he has to fulfil some duties as a Baron. And these duties include cherishing the family inheritance.” Cloudia shrugged. “It will take him a bit of time, but I am confident that he will figure out the perfect solution for his dilemma.”

“Hihi.” Cedric grinned widely. “So Milton got you flowers. Now, won’t you see what _I_ got you?” he asked, sounding very amused.

Cloudia stood up, hesitating for a split second before going to the pile of presents which Lisa, Newman, and some other servants had brought up from the garden to the anteroom. She picked up Cedric’s packed gift and returned to the armchair. He smiled quizzically when she unwrapped it. Out of the package came a petite necklace with a clear pendant, in which a fragile four leaf clover was enclosed. The necklace was simple – but also stunningly beautiful.

“There is an old Irish verse about these clovers,” Cedric explained. “‘One leaf is for fame, /And one leaf is for wealth, /And one is for a faithful lover, /And one to bring you glorious health, /Are all in the four-leaved clover.’ I thought it was suitable for you and your situation.”

She chuckled a little bit. “Do you want to make fun of me, Undertaker?”

He grinned. “I would never dare, Countess.” Cedric leaned back, resting his hands behind him on the tabletop so that he wouldn’t fall backwards. His grin grew bigger, and he looked at her in absolute amusement, his strangely coloured eyes shining enigmatically in the pale light of the anteroom. “In your townhouse in London you asked me if I had any friends,” he began. “It was in January after you got injured in the Salisbury Villa. You fell asleep before I could ask you the same question on that day, but, thankfully, your cousin’s husband reminded me of it with his presence. So... do _you_ have any friends, Countess?”

Cloudia gazed at him without showing any emotion like she had been taught. “As the Queen’s Watchdog, I simply do not have time to establish friendships. Also, most people I interact with are either fairly annoying or very shady people, so it’s quite impossible for me to find any friends.”

“And how about our dear Baron Milton Salisbury? Isn’t _he_ your friend?”

She sighed. “He is _just an admirer_. I like his modesty, but that’s all. I don’t even really know him, so he _isn’t_ a friend of mine.”

Cedric chuckled. “My, my, Countess, you’re a very lonely girl, aren’t you?”

“ _You_ don’t have any friends either, Undertaker,” Cloudia pointed out.

Cedric shrugged. “Then we’re both lonely. Deliberately, but still lonely.”

She tilted her head. “What do you want, Undertaker?”

“I have just asked you if you had any friends, Countess. After all, you’re a young and lively girl. Young and lively girls usually have friends.” He started to chuckle anew. “Except you, of course, Countess.”

“You’re impossible.”

“Why? Because I remind you that you’re actually quite lonely?”

“No. You’re impossible because you try getting your amusement out of it.” Cloudia rose from her chair and glared down at him. “The day is over, Undertaker. You can go home now.”


	9. The Countess, Laughing Together

  _“Just being ‘the odd ones out’ didn't mean that you couldn't have fun.”_

* * *

 

 

**Countryside, Wales, United Kingdom ‒ July 1847**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_I sighed during the train ride while looking out of the window._

_After my birthday in April, the Underworld had woken up again and tortured me with a ridiculous amount of cases. In the last three months, I had perhaps murdered and arrested even more people than I had in the last_ year _. Feeling sorry for deluging me with work, Queen Victoria had given me two weeks off and forced me to go to Wales and have a nice holiday there._

 _Unfortunately, I had once mentioned Cedric in a letter to her, which had resulted in her assailing me with questions until I told her everything about Cedric I had fabricated. And this resulted in her not only sending me to a holiday but also sending_ Cedric _with me. Queen Victoria was very fond of teasing me – especially when she was pregnant._

_Her husband, Prince Albert, and she had five children with their latest child, Princess Helena, born in May 1846, and they were already expecting Baby Number Six since around a month._

_It would be painful to meet her at Buckingham Palace until the child was born. Victoria. Did. Not. Like. Being. Pregnant. She thought that babies were ugly, and she despised breastfeeding. Still, Albert and she just couldn’t stop having children._

_I needed to talk to her about that when I was back in England._

_And about the fact that she forced me to travel with Cedric to Wales. Without him, the forced holidays would have been at least bearable. The local maid and the cook – I didn’t take Lisa or Newman with me which had made them both anxious, but Victoria said that the cottage, where she deported me, already had a cook and a maid – would do their work, while I worked myself through my collection of Charles Dickens books which I had taken with me. The cottage was located in the middle of nowhere, meaning that I would finally be surrounded by complete silence._

_However, Queen Victoria of the United Kingdom and Ireland had sent_ Cedric _with me._

 _Wasn’t this supposed to be_ relaxing _for me?_

 

 

“I still think that you should have refused the Queen’s offer to accompany me,” Cloudia meant, putting down her hat, which was decorated with beautiful purple verbena and fit perfectly together with the gentian blue dress Lisa had made her last month.

“I don’t think that I could have declined an offer from _the Queen_.”

Cedric and Cloudia shared a compartment with beclouded windows, so nobody in the corridor could watch them during their travel. Therefore, Cedric thought that it was absolutely reasonable to sit half lying on the seats. Cloudia was surprised that he didn’t fall down every time the train arrived at a station and stopped.

“You’re creasing your expensive clothes,” she scolded him with a stern look on her face.

And, of course, he started to laugh loudly.

“My, my. I feel sorry for your future children, Countess. You have to have kids for being the last of Phantomhives after all.”

Cedric turned on his seat so that his head touched the ground and his feet were flying mid-air. Cloudia rolled her eyes.

“Also, Countess, Grim Reapers also get days off. For that two-week-trip here, I used my limited holiday time. Normal Reapers can only take off a month a year. But, of course, we can divide this month over the whole year.”

“I don’t think anyone will miss you in the Dispatch,” Cloudia said and sighed. “If the snack lady arrives here and wants to sell us some sweets, she will get a heart attack when she sees you. You’re at least a hundred years old, so stop behaving like a little child, Undertaker.”

“My, my. You’re really grumpy today again, Countess.” Cedric sat down on his seat opposite from her – and this time, he did it properly. “We’re having some days off after working so much in the last months. You should be happy and smile for a change.”

“I would be happier if _you_ weren’t here.”

“ _You_ came up with the idea of making a deal with me – just a few minutes after meeting me.”

“But I just wanted to _work_ with you. Not to share my _holidays_ with you.”

“Well. You can complain about it when we’re back. I think the Queen will listen to you.”

“She’s pregnant. _Again_. Prince Albert and Queen Victoria simply have too many children. And now, they will get a new one. She’s always a bit disordered when she’s pregnant.”

Cedric chuckled a bit. “You seem to know her quite well.”

Cloudia sighed. “I _am_ the Queen’s Watchdog after all. She’s my employer. I directly work for the crown and the sake of the kingdom. _Naturally_ , I know her quite well. Even before I was decorated, the Queen occasionally invited me to get to know me. I am her first Watchdog after all. I attended her and Prince Albert’s wedding together with my mother, for example.”

He frowned. “You attended their wedding with _your mother_? Didn’t she turn crazy after your father’s death?”

She glared at him. “She did _not_ go crazy. My mother is behaving irresponsibly and ridiculously, but she is _not_ crazy. She accompanied me to their wedding because it was my first time meeting the Royal family, and she didn’t want to let me go there on my own. Or let one of her sisters accompany me. Mother dislikes the Royal family because she thinks it’s their fault that Father died. Without them and the ‘horrible’ cases they assigned to him, he wouldn’t have been murdered, she says. Out of fear, Mother came with me to their wedding as I was only nine years old back then. It was one of the few times, Mother stopped locking herself up and went outside.”

“Wait – your father was _murdered_?”

Cloudia ignored his question, or better she avoided this topic, and stared out of the window. The landscape of Wales was passing by as they drove in the train.

It was Cedric’s turn to sigh. “And when else did your mother come out?” he asked her another question, which she would hopefully answer this time.

Cloudia sat up straight in her seat. “At my decorations.”

“Did you just intentionally use plural?”

“Everything I say, I say with an intention, Undertaker. I do not misspeak,” she stated. “And if you had more than one brain cell, Undertaker, you could have guessed that I _naturally_ had two decorations. I’m basically not one but two persons after all.”

“So you had one for yourself and one for the ‘Earl of Phantomhive’?”

Cloudia nodded. “Exactly. On May 5, 1842, I was decorated as the Countess of Phantomhive. Only my family members were invited to this secret ceremony. I had a chance to wear a truly lovely white dress, made by the Queen’s tailor, on that day. The following day, other nobles were invited to Buckingham Palace for my second decoration ceremony. I dressed up as a boy and posed as my own fictional cousin. It was my first great act as the Watchdog,” she told him.

Cedric leaned back and looked up at the ceiling when there was a knock on the door.

“Please enter,” Cloudia said politely, and Cedric quickly sat up straight again.

The snack lady, like Cloudia had called her, had arrived. She was a little, slightly chubby woman with brown hair kept in a tight bun. Her cheeks were rosy, and her lips were forming a friendly smile. Over her plum-coloured dress, the snack lady wore a white apron. And, of course, she had her big trolley with sweets with her.

“Hello. My name is Mrs Mary Margaret Wilming.” The snack lady with the exceptionally nice face curtsied in front of them. At least, she was aware of the etiquette.

“I am Lady Cloudia Phantomhive, and this is my good friend and travel companion, Duke Kristopher Underwood,” Cloudia introduced them formally.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Lady Phantomhive and Duke Underwood.” She curtsied again.

“May I offer you some sweets, Mylady?” Mary Margaret Wilming then asked.

Cloudia smiled. “No, thank you, Mrs Wilming. They all look fantastic, but, unfortunately, I do not feel like eating anything sweet right now.”

Mary Margaret lowered her head a bit. “I can fully understand, Mylady.” She lifted her head up again and turned her attention towards Cedric, whose yellowish green eyes glowed like two washed-out emeralds in the light behind his glasses.

Mary Margaret laughed – a laugh which shook her whole figure and came right from the bottom of her heart. “Your attendee seems to be very fond of sweets, Lady Phantomhive.”

 

 

_Couldn’t he have told me about this beforehand? Then, I could have hammered into him not to act like a little child before Mary Margaret had arrived!_

 

 

Cloudia smiled in an apology. “I’m deeply sorry for his indecent behaviour. When it comes to sweets, he forgets everything he was taught.”

Mary Margaret laughed another one of her hearty laughs. “That’s not a problem, Mylady. Which sweets do you desire exactly, Your Grace?”

“Everything,” Cedric said without hesitation and without taking off his gaze from the trolley.

Cloudia covered her face behind her Japanese fan, while Mary Margaret was genuinely amused by Cedric’s behaviour and told him what sweets she had. After he had picked up some and gave her a bit of money – Cloudia’s money which she had given him for emergencies –, Mary Margaret waved them goodbye and left their compartment.

“You’re impossible, Undertaker,” Cloudia scolded him when Mary Margaret was far enough not to hear their conversation by accident.

Cedric put candy in his mouth. “These are really good! Do you think we can call her back, so I can propose to her? She makes _brilliant_ sweets!” Another candy vanished into his mouth.

“She introduced herself as _Mrs_ Mary Margaret Wilming, you fool. She’s _married_.”

He shrugged and bit into a piece of cake. “The good ones are always taken. Do you think that she has a daughter to whom she taught all her fine recipes?”

Cloudia shook her head. “As if this was of importance! Your behaviour earlier was _unforgivable_! You embarrassed me in front of a commoner.”

“Calm down, Countess. Good old Mary Maggie didn’t look like a lady who would gossip about you or anyone. Also, we’re already in Wales. I doubt that this incident will get known in London.”

“How will you know for sure that she isn’t a nosy Nancy, a great gossip, a chatterbox, a blabbermouth...”

Cedric fell down his seat due to laughter and nearly choked on a jelly baby.

“I had no clue that you knew such words, Countess! Guehehe.”

“I read a lot of books. My vocabulary is very far-reaching,” Cloudia replied with a smirk.

He burst into laughter again, and a package of candy fell down on the ground. “You work yourself up too much, Countess. Relax a bit. We’re on holidays.”

She sighed and leaned back, closing her eyes.

 

 

_I could feel a headache approaching me. I wasn’t amused._

 

 

Cloudia opened her eyes again and put out one of her gloved hands. “Could you please give me a few of your sweets?”

“No.”

“Th – excuse me, did you just say ‘no’?”

“Exactly, Countess,” Cedric said and put a handful of marshmallows into his mouth. “You said barely fifteen minutes ago to Mary Margaret that you don’t want any sweets.”

“I’m a girl of nobility. I cannot simply tell a snack lady that I want something from her. It wouldn’t have been appropriate for me to buy anything from her. And now – could you share with me your goods?”

“No.”

She sighed. “You’re being vile; do you know that?”

“I do. But, whatever you say, I will not give you any of my sweets.” Cedric worked himself through a big cream tart with strawberries.

“And what is your reason?”

“Well...” He looked directly into her eyes, looking as serious as he could. “I will not boost your sneaky attempt to eat up my sweets. You only want them because, then, you don’t have to buy some by yourself.”

“It was _my_ money you used to buy these!”

“But don’t you think because I am your investigative partner, I have the right to get a bit of the Queen’s money? The other Aristocrats of Evil are paid a salary from her as well after all.”

“They aren’t paid a salary from the Queen,” Cloudia clarified. “The Queen cannot interact with the business partners of her Watchdog because they are mostly quite dubious people. And it’s bad enough that she frequently meets up with _me_. Therefore, I get a little extra money when I get my fees for accomplishing a task given by Queen Victoria. I get these fees alongside my monthly, regular salary. _I_ divide this extra money between the Aristocrats who had helped me with this certain case. The Queen herself doesn’t know who helps me and who doesn’t. Thus, it’s my job to buy the Aristocrats out. Besides, they didn’t become my colleagues for the money. They are _aristocrats_ after all. They are my colleagues because they gain a certain freedom out of our partnership. And probably a bit of influence. And whatever _your_ reason was to join me.”

“But that doesn’t change the fact that _they are paid_. It also supports the fact that _I_ should also get paid.”

She sighed. “You’re absolutely unbearable. Your parents must have tried to sell you off to the next farmer when you were still human.”

 

 

_Suddenly, Cedric became eerily silent – could it mean that I was right? That my silly joke was the truth? Or at least very close to it? I knew so little about him, but the day would definitely come when I was the one asking the questions and getting the answers out of him._

_After a while, Cedric started eating his sweets again in an exaggerated, all happy manner to tease me. He had once told me, despite being a supernatural being, that he had to sleep like normal humans. Besides, he had entrusted me that Grim Reapers could also die._

_Also – if he continued to annoy me, I would strangle him with my corset while he was asleep._

_The rest of the travel, Cedric was eating the sweets he had purchased, and I was reading_ Sketches by “Boz,” Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People _by Charles Dickens – a collection of his very early short stories, published in 1836._

_We arrived at our destination by early afternoon. Cedric and I got out of the train and a servant, Queen Victoria had sent to help us with our luggage and bring us to the cottage, was already awaiting us. He drove us to the cottage in a fine carriage. The ground was a bit uneven, but the scenery from the carriage windows was truly breathtaking._

_Then, after a few hours, we arrived at the cottage._

 

***

 

Like a true gentleman, Cedric helped Cloudia out of the carriage while the servant unloaded their luggage from the carriage. The wind was blowing violently, and Cloudia had to hold her hat tightly so that it wouldn’t fly away.

Wales was extraordinarily beautiful. The wide green meadows. The deep-blue, never-ending lakes and rivers. To get to the cottage, they had had to drive over a stone bridge, which had been built over a river with such beautiful, clean water like Cloudia had never seen it. Due to it being late afternoon and this side of the world already about to change into night, the clouds flying on the sky started a bit to paint themselves lavender. Here and there were shades of mauve and plum entangled in the deep-blue colour of the sky.

Cloudia spent most of her time in her lovely manor in the countryside, but her mansion was surrounded by a grand forest, and London was two to three hours away. This cottage, however, was located in “the middle of nowhere” just like Victoria had assured her. Therefore, Cloudia had never seen the true beauty of nature.

The cottage itself was ghastly, though.

It was an ugly, old stone building with two chimneys. Also, it was about to be devoured by ivy.

Cedric burst into laughter the moment he saw this abnormality.

 

 

_I needed to tell Victoria that she shouldn’t make too many decisions while pregnant. She should let Albert handle everything until she had given birth._

 

 

A small, petite woman with short greying hair and a tall, lanky young man stepped out of the cottage and approached them.

“My name is Jocelyn Blevins. I am the landlady and maid of this cottage. And this is Arwyn Owens. He can’t hear nor speak, but he’s a very friendly person and a brilliant cook,” the small woman said, and curtsied in front of Cloudia and Cedric. Jocelyn Blevins wore a very simple dark blue dress which looked like she had worn it for ages. Her face looked old, and she was probably in her late forties or early fifties, but her eyes shone with intelligence and youth.

The man next to her bowed politely. He had wild, black locks which didn’t have enough room on his head. His eyes were of a very deep blue colour – similar to Cloudia’s own eyes. However, he had slightly sun-tanned skin. Furthermore, the lanky man wore the white uniform of a cook.

Cloudia had just wanted to introduce Cedric and herself to them, even though she was quite sure that they already knew who they were when Jocelyn Blevins stepped in front of her all of a sudden and took hold of her arms. Today, Cloudia wore long gloves made of white lace, but between the short sleeves of her dress and the end of the gloves was a tiny part of the uncovered skin. Jocelyn took hold of her arms at exactly these exposed parts. Her hands were cold, and Cloudia did her best not to shiver.

“What a beautiful young girl you are! With your black hair, you could fit perfectly into Wales! Say, girl, are one of your parents from Wales?”

The servant carried their luggage into the cottage, and Arwyn Owens showed him where he needed to put them.

Cedric covered his mouth, but she could still see that he was grinning like an idiot.

“My parents are both English,” Cloudia replied and did her best to exaggerate her upper-class English accent.

“No Welsh ancestors?”

“Perhaps, but I’m certain that, if I have any Welsh ancestors, they are only to be found in the higher parts of the crown of my family tree.”

Jocelyn let go of Cloudia’s arms. “Well... it doesn’t really matter, does it? I hope you are going to feel like at home in this modest cottage, Lady Phantomhive and Duke Underwood.”

 

 

_If it looks better inside than outside, it could probably be even bearable to stay here. Besides, I had to say that I was relieved that Jocelyn did know our names. At least, I didn’t have to start introducing Cedric and myself._

 

 

Jocelyn Blevins walked up to Cedric and shook hands with him.

“What lovely, long hair you have, Your Grace!” she complimented him. “The hair colour’s a bit odd, though. Or are you just older than you seem?” She laughed and playfully thumped his arm.

“It’s my natural hair colour,” Cedric answered her. He didn’t look happy.

“Really? I have never seen someone who was your age with silver or grey hair before.”

“Now you did. Also, I would appreciate it if you could lead Lady Cloudia and me inside, Mrs Blevins.”

Cloudia blinked at him. She had never seen Cedric being so bitter about something. She wondered what the reason for his behaviour was.

 

***

 

_Exhausted, I fell on my bed without even putting off my dress. I had only taken off my hat and my gloves._

_Jocelyn had given Cedric and me an awfully long guidance through this terribly small cottage. She had told us_ everything _about every corner, about every flaw in the walls, about every piece of furniture, etc. of this cottage with scaring enthusiasm._

_When the guidance had been over, she had led us to the dining room. Arwyn Owens had prepared us a lovely dinner. The servant had said goodbye hours ago and left with his carriage._

_Arwyn had prepared a traditional Welsh stew named Cawl for us, which consisted of lamb shanks, many vegetables like potatoes, carrots, leek, and cabbage among others, herbs and seasoning. It looked and smelled as lovely as it tasted. For dessert, Arwyn had prepared chocolate cake. After dinner, Cedric and I were brought to our rooms which were quite small, but not tiny._

_Now, I was lying on my bed and massaging my temples. My headache was getting worse. Definitely, Jocelyn’s endless babble was to blame. At least partly._

_I stopped the massage and stood up. It didn’t help. I needed to go to sleep. Tomorrow, hopefully, my headache would be better._

_But it was impossible for me to get out of this dress on my own. Mostly because of the corset._

_Thus, I needed Jocelyn’s help._

_I sighed and went to call her._

 

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_I visited Cloudia after Arwyn and Jocelyn had gone to sleep. Usually, she didn’t sleep until it was already very late. Instead, she read through half the night. I didn’t know if she was just very fond of books, or if she had some sleeping problem._

_But then, sometimes, Cloudia fell asleep during conversations, when we were alone in her manor or her townhouse in London._

_Cloudia Phantomhive was surely a very complex and mysterious person._

_Today, however, Cloudia was lying under her sheets and seemed to be fast asleep. She had carefully placed her books in the forthcoming bookshelf, but none of it was rested on top of her bedside cabinet._

_I moved a chair next to her bed and put one hand on her forehead. Again, she looked simply angelic while asleep. Just like Princess Snow White in her glass coffin._

_Cloudia opened her eyes. She blinked a few times before her eyes widened, and then, she slapped my hand away._

 

 

“What are you doing here, Undertaker?” she yelled at him and sat up.

“Visiting you, Countess,” Cedric said. He saw her rubbing her temples. She looked awful.

“And why did you wake me up with your hand on my face?” Cloudia glared at him.

“Usually you get to sleep very late. When I saw that you had already gone to sleep, I assumed that you could be ill, and examined if you have a fever.”

“I’m fine.” She lay back down and pulled her blanket over her.

“You don’t look fine.”

Again, Cloudia kneaded her temples and pain sneaked onto her face.

“Is anything wrong with your head?” Cedric asked.

She sighed and turned around so that Cedric had to talk to her back. “I only have a headache.”

“I heard that coffee helps when it comes to headaches.”

She shook her head. “It doesn’t work on me.”

“It seems like you often have headaches,” Cedric pointed out jokingly.

Cloudia stayed silent, and Cedric feared that she had already fallen asleep, but then, he finally realised what the real reason for her silence was.

“You often _do_ have headaches, am I right? I’m absolutely right, ain’t I?” He grinned, highly amused. “But when coffee doesn’t help and headaches aren’t a rare thing for you – how do you usually treat them?”

“Sleep,” she answered after a while. “Or...” She cut herself off.

“Or?”

Cloudia mumbled something into her pillow.

“Countess, it would be appropriate if you spoke properly, and not like a toothless old hag.” It felt good being the one saying such things for once.

“Hot milk,” she whispered.

“Okay, I’ll make you a cup of hot milk.” Cedric stood up from the chair. “You could have said something about your headache earlier, Countess. It would have been...”

“With honey,” Cloudia added faintly.

He nodded. “A cup of hot milk with honey is arriving. Just be patient.” Then, he left the room.

 

 

_I went down to the kitchen. On my way down, I had passed by Jocelyn’s room and allowed myself to peek inside. She was snoring in her bed, and Arwyn was deaf which meant that I could be noisy while preparing the hot milk for Cloudia._

_Grim Reapers had to sleep, but I wanted to chat with her, so I needed to help her with her headache as soon as possible._

“I just have a headache, Undertaker. It’s nothing unusual.”

 _I suddenly remembered the day Cloudia had woken up after she had lost consciousness in the Salisbury Villa in January. Coming to think of it, she_ had _implied back then that she often had headaches. I had just forgotten it. Well... it didn’t matter anymore._

_While I heated up the milk, I thought of something I could prepare for her alongside the milk. During dinner, Cloudia hadn’t eaten very much. I had thought that she was just decent, or that her corset was too tight and didn’t allow her to eat much. But knowing about her condition now, I wondered if she hadn’t eaten much because of her headache._

_I pottered about in the kitchen, preparing the milk, and the special something I wanted to give her to eat. Cloudia was probably starving. She hadn’t eaten anything despite the Cawl since our departure this morning after all. And she had barely touched the Cawl, although it had been utterly delicious._

_I felt a little bit bad about not having given her a few sweets on the train ride._

_When I was done, I put everything on a tray and carried it upstairs. I entered Cloudia’s room and saw her leaning against the wall while sitting on her bed. She looked horrible, but also more fragile, more_ vulnerable _than she actually was. Cloudia Phantomhive was the Queen of the Underworld. She was a powerful woman, but, apparently, headaches turned her into a fragile child of seventeen years. Usually, she appeared older than she actually was._

 

 

Cedric sat down on the chair, which he had placed next to her bed earlier, and put the tray on the bedside cabinet.

“I made you your hot milk, Countess,” he told her. Cloudia gazed at him. “With honey?”

He grinned and nodded. “Yes, with honey.” He lifted the cup and handed it over to her. She drank a sip and put it down on her lap.

“It’s good,” she murmured. Then, Cloudia noticed the other thing which Cedric had brought to her and frowned at them.

“Are these _dog biscuits_?”

“These are _my special house-made biscuits for humans and Reapers_ ,” Cedric corrected her.

“They are shaped like bones, like _dog biscuits_.”

“They are solely for humans and Reapers – not for dogs. I only have one biscuit cutter.” He picked one biscuit up and gave it to her.

“Try one out.” He grinned widely.

Cloudia put the cup on the bedside cabinet and took the biscuit from him. While she carefully bit into the biscuit, Cedric put at least seven of them into his mouth at once.

“They are good,” she said silently, making him smile.

 

 

_Headache Cloudia was quite different than Normal Cloudia._

 

 

“I’m happy that you like them,” Cedric said and ate another handful of biscuits. Cloudia, on the other hand, ate the biscuits while drinking her hot milk like a civilised young lady of nobility who she was.

“Are you feeling better already?” he wanted to know.

She nodded. “A little bit.”

“Can I ask you a question, Countess?”

“You have already done it twice. And numerous times today and in the last months without asking beforehand,” Cloudia replied, sounding a bit like Normal Cloudia again. It made him feel relieved.

Cedric grinned. “Okay, okay, then I will go ahead: Why can only hot milk with honey ease your headache?”

She put the now empty cup on her lap and embraced it with her hands.

“My father used to make me hot milk with honey when I wasn’t feeling well,” Cloudia entrusted Cedric. “When I was little, my mother was once in Ireland, visiting Aunt Felicity while she was pregnant with Ceara. During that time, I was always with my father; and when I suddenly caught a fever and lost my appetite, he made me a cup of hot milk with honey. I liked it very much from the first mouthful, and it even helped me to recover. Because of that, Father continued to make me it when I wasn’t feeling well.” Cloudia ran her thumb over the rim of the cup.

“You seem to miss him,” Cedric said after a while, his voice soft.

“He’s dead for over thirteen years now. I can’t even remember his _face_.” Cloudia shook her head. “It’s ridiculous. This silly cup of hot milk with honey is one of the few things I unconsciously remember. I always a nostalgic, comforting feeling when I drink it, but for years, I did not know why until someone told me about it.

“Probably, I would have stopped drinking it ages ago if it didn’t help.” She put the cup on the bedside cabinet. “I would love to talk with you for the next few hours, but, today, my headache is nastier than normal, and the milk doesn’t entirely work. I need sleep – also... could you please leave, Undertaker? I wish you a good night – and thanks for the milk and the biscuits,” Cloudia added with a lower voice.

 

***

 

“Bore da, Countess!” Cedric greeted her when Cloudia entered the dining room. Today, she wore a simpler dress than yesterday, but it was still fantastically elegant. It was made of dark grey silk, and the dress’ only decoration was a bit of white lace in the area of the décolleté, in the area where the skirt started, and at the end of the sleeves. Like usual, Cloudia had braided her long black hair into a stern wreath on the back of her head. He liked her with open hair better, but he couldn’t deny that this hairstyle also looked great on her. It gave free sight to her flawless face with the high cheekbones, the ivory skin, the full red lips, and the big, shining eyes. Gracefully, Cloudia sat down on a chair opposite from Cedric.

“What does ‘Buureh dar’ mean?” she asked, pronouncing it so terribly that Cedric had to giggle.

“It’s _Boh-reh dah_ ,” he instructed her. “It means ‘Good morning’ in Welsh. Jocelyn taught it to me.”

“Speaking of her – where _is_ Mrs Blevins? I don’t see her anywhere.”

“Just because you don’t see her, doesn’t mean she isn’t here.”

Cloudia sighed. “Just tell me if she’s here or not.”

Cedric put another piece of Welsh crempog – or _Ffroes_ like Jocelyn had told him happily – into his mouth. They were basically pancakes, but not as papery as English pancakes. Arwyn, who was working in the kitchen next to the dining room right now, had put icing sugar on top of them, making the crempogs even lovelier than they already were. He and Cloudia weren’t even in Wales for one day now, but Cedric had already fallen in love with Welsh food.

“She’s not,” he said with a full mouth. Only Cloudia could hear him after all. “Jocelyn drove to a nearby town with her old, rattly car for shopping.”

“Don’t speak with a full mouth!” Cloudia scolded him.

Cedric laughed and waved friskily about with his fork. “I’m happy to see that you’re doing well again, Countess.”

She didn’t say anything, just stared at the pile of crempogs which was located in front of her on a big plate.

“Are these... pancakes?”

“Crempog or Ffroes,” Cedric told her. “They are pancakes but taste better than the English ones we’re used to. Not so papery. Creamier, juicier.”

Cloudia put a few of the Welsh pancakes on her plate and began to eat them. “Delicious!” escaped her mouth before she could do anything. Quickly, she covered her mouth, and Cedric burst into laughter. This had been the most carefree thing which she had ever done in his presence.

She cleared her throat. “Sorry for my sudden outburst.”

“My, my, Countess! No need to apologise! It’s fine. We’re on holidays, and no one will scold you. We’re far away from London, from England. No one knows you here. You don’t have to be so stiff.” Cedric put another piece of crempog inside his mouth.

“Also, they _are_ totally delicious. So it’s absolutely reasonable to have an outburst because of it.”

They continued their breakfast while chatting. Cedric had to encourage Cloudia to eat more of the crempogs when she had suddenly stopped, but had still looked hungry. Arwyn and Jocelyn were the only ones out here, and they would never yell at her for eating an unladylike portion. In the end, the two of them managed to eat all the approximate one hundred crempogs Arwyn had made for them. Cedric giggled like a little, silly girl when he realised this. Cloudia just smiled happily – it was an entirely different smile as he was used to, and he liked it –, but he knew that she would have loved to giggle with him in unison but couldn’t.

 

 

_After breakfast, Cloudia had vanished into her room, and I was able to prepare my plan._

_I wasn’t very popular among the Grim Reapers of the Dispatch, but there had been a time when I had actually talked to my fellow Reapers. During that time, I had met and got to know a young woman. She had died at the age of twenty-three and had been raised in some churchly facility. The woman’s name was Helena Bowers, and she had been born deaf. In the facility, however, Helena had learned how to use sign language so that she was able to communicate with others. She had taught it to me before she was transferred to the Administrative Division._

_Therefore, I was luckily able to communicate with Arwyn and tell him about my plan. And, fortunately, he was willing to help me._

 

 

***

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 _I had finished_ Sketches by “Boz,” Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People _and put it back in the bookcase, and had just wanted to start with_ The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club _, Charles Dickens’ very first novel, when someone knocked on my door. I expected Jocelyn who wanted to tell me every single detail of her trip to the town and show me everything she had bought, explaining to me why exactly she bought it. I sighed during my way to the door._

_I had never been so relieved to see Cedric standing in the doorway._

 

 

“I will kidnap you now, Countess,” he announced. His smile was almost splitting up his face into two uneven parts.

Cloudia raised one eyebrow. “I hope you’re well aware of the fact that you don’t _announce_ a kidnapping act. Or any other criminal act. It’s just ridiculous. Sometimes, you hear from thieves who send cards to the persons or museums they want to steal something from. Then, these persons or the museum’s director place a million police officers around the artefact the thief wants to steal – only to be fooled by him, and losing their precious item nevertheless. I despise such thieves. They are basically little children who are bored and want to play pranks on adults.”

Cedric laughed hysterically. “You’re wonderful, Countess! Besides – I don’t really want to kidnap you. I simply want to take you on a little trip. And if you refuse, I will have to force you to. I hope you’re aware of the fact that Grim Reapers possess more strength than humans will ever have?” He giggled.

She sighed. “Very well, Undertaker. Let’s go.” Cloudia wanted to step through the door, but Cedric stopped her.

“Not so fast, Countess! You can’t go to the place, where I want to take you, in such a dress. Please change into a lighter dress and more robust shoes.”

Cloudia frowned. “But I can’t change into a lighter dress! I would have to change my corset too. And Jocelyn isn’t there.”

“ _I_ could help you,” Cedric suggested, and Cloudia punched him very unladylike against his upper arm.

“Don’t say such things! You _cannot_ help me change, Undertaker.”

“It’s not my fault that you were so foolish not to take Miss Greene or Alfred with you.”

 

 

_In the past months, Cedric had got acquainted with Lisa and Newman. While he was acting like good friends with Newman, he always treated Lisa with so much politeness that it actually surprised me._

 

 

“I couldn’t have known that the only other woman here would just disappear for hours!” Cloudia replied.

“If you feel uneasy when it’s me, why don’t you ask Arwyn? He’s a very charming person.”

She scowled at him. “You’re impossible, Undertaker.”

“You keep and keep saying the same things over and over again, Countess. I promise you – I won’t look. I can put down my glasses. I’m terribly nearsighted – just like every other Grim Reaper. I would only see the ribbons on your corset.”

“Fine,” Cloudia sighed. “But if you just take a _glimpse_ , I will shatter your glasses, and you can spend the rest of your immortal life in eternal darkness.”

Cedric chuckled. “I could just get myself a new pair.”

“Not if you don’t find your way back home.”

 

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_I helped Cloudia getting out of her corset. Then, she ordered me to leave the room. When I had stepped over the doorway, she threw my glasses at me and closed the door. What a rude lady._

_I waited a few minutes in front of her bedroom until she told me through the closed door that I should come in again. I put down my glasses and helped her with the lighter corset. Then, she pushed me out again._

_While Cloudia was getting dressed, I went back to my own room to change too. I picked a loose white shirt, dark blue trousers which almost reached to my knees, and simple but robust dark boots. I even put on these funny sock suspenders._

_I brushed through my hair and put it in a high ponytail. I always coiffed my hair like this when I was out collecting souls for the Dispatch. When I was “Kristopher Underwood,” however, I wore my hair in a low ponytail._

_After I was done, I went to the kitchen, and the good Arwyn gave me what I had requested from him. I lifted my flat hand to my chin so that my fingers briefly touched it, and slowly moved my still flat hand forwards. Then, I left the kitchen._

_In this exact moment, Cloudia walked down the stairs – letting me forget to breathe for a split second._

_She had changed into a simple light blue dress whose skirt part was not so far-reaching than the skirts of her usual dresses. Her other dresses were usually of a very stiff nature, but this one was_ softer _. It had sleeves which reached to her elbows. The upper part of the sleeves snuggled against her skin, while the remaining 75 % were loose and made from the same soft silk like the skirt._

_I had only seen Cloudia’s hair either loose or braided to a wreath at the back of her head. Now, however, she wore her hair in a long braid which rested over her right shoulder. On her head, she was wearing a big straw hat with a dark blue ribbon._

_For the first time, I truly got a glimpse of Cloudia. Not of the Countess of Phantomhive. Not of Cloudia Phantomhive._

_In this very moment, the woman in front of me was just Cloudia._

 

 

Cedric smiled brilliantly. “Well then, Countess.” He lifted up the picnic basket. “Let us go.”

 

***

 

_I led Cloudia up the hills. The sun was shining upon us. It was remarkably hotter than yesterday. We were walking through a field of green. Not a single cloud could be seen in the brilliant blue sky._

_I helped Cloudia over small rivers with absurdly clean water. Tiny fish swam in them, jumping up from time to time, startling Cloudia and making me laugh. A fine breeze blew into our faces while we wandered._

_And with every kilometre we got between us and the cottage, Cloudia magically became less grumpy._

 

 

Eventually, Cedric put down the picnic basket and stretched.

“Okay,” he said. “Let’s have lunch.”

He opened the gigantic basket and took out a large blanket, which he spread over the meadow. Then, he put out the things from the basket and placed them on the blanket. When he was done, Cedric looked up and held out a hand to Cloudia.

“May I invite you to eat with me, Your Ladyship?”

“You may,” Cloudia replied with a tiny smile on her lips and took his hand. They both wore gloves – hers made of lace, his of a more robust material he forgot the name of –, but he could still feel the warmth of her hand. “Your Dreadfulness,” she added when she sat down on the blanket.

“‘Your Dreadfulness’?”

“You’re Undertaker after all,” she said, grinning.

Cedric giggled. “You’re sometimes so ridiculous, Countess.”

“That I have to hear that from _you_ of all people.”

He laughed, and they started to eat.

 

 

Arwyn had made them Welsh rarebit – toast which was scalloped with posh cheese, and Glamorgan sausage, a vegetarian sausage made of Caerphilly cheese and rolled in breadcrumbs. As the dessert, he had prepared Welsh cakes for them. They were quite small and flavoured with spice and dried fruit and sprinkled with sugar, but they tasted as delicious as everything Arwyn had ever cooked for them. Arwyn had also packed them a big bottle of water and drinking glasses. While Cedric almost drank half of the bottle on his own, Cloudia’s glass was still filled and untouched.

“Actually,” Cedric began, impaling a sausage with his fork, “I wanted to marry Arwyn, but, I guess, I can’t do that.”

“Because you intended to marry Mary Margaret Wilming?” Cloudia said.

He shook his head and eyed the sausage. “No. My heart was broken by her when I realised that she was already taken. But I will still wait until Doomsday to make her mine. Whatever, that’s not the reason why I can’t marry Arwyn anymore.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And what _is_ the reason?”

Cedric put the sausage into his mouth. “Because I found out that he’s a really cheesy guy.”

 

 

_And as soon as these words left my mouth, a miracle happened._

_I did not believe in miracles. But for me – this was and would always be a true miracle._

_Cloudia –_ the _Cloudia Phantomhive,_ the _Countess of Phantomhive,_ the _Shadow Queen of the British Underworld – burst out into laughter and even held her belly._

_I had never heard a sound more heavenly than this._

 

 

Cloudia wiped away a tear of laughter. A heartwarming smile remained on her face. Then, suddenly, she realised what she had just done and turned bright red.

“Oh!” escaped her lips, and she turned away her face. “I apologise for my unutterable behaviour.”

Cedric put a hand on one of her shoulders and turned her back to him so that they were looking into each other’s eyes.

“I have no _goddamn_ idea who the _hell_ told you to apologise for _having fun_. You’re a _seventeen-year-old girl_. You’re free to laugh. You can, _dammit_ , laugh as much as you want. You don’t have to apologise for laughing, goddammit,” he screamed at her with an uncharacteristically stern look on his face.

Cloudia stared at him in shock, and Cedric’s face softened again. He brushed over her cheek with the back of his hand.

“I’m sorry for my outburst, Countess. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He stopped in his movement and rested his hand against her cheek. “But it is _really_ fine for you to laugh.”

Cedric put his hand away from her face and looked away. “Let’s continue to eat now and forget this.”

 

What he didn’t see was that Cloudia kept gazing at him.

 

 

“Say, Countess,” Cedric said after around an hour of silence. “Your servants, Miss Greene and Alfred, your cousins, Milton, and even the Queen – she _forced_ you to take a break after all – seem to like you in their own ways. And you still told me that you don’t have any friends.”

Cloudia looked up to the sky. She had put down her straw hat, and now the light wind could play with a few loose streaks of her dark, dark raven hair.

“Lisa and Newman are my _servants_. They are _devoted_ to me. I helped them out of misery, and as gratitude, they are serving me. We may have a friendly relationship, but we are not _friends_ ,” she told him, her gaze still resting on the sky.

“Speaking of your servants... How _exactly_ did you meet them? Alfred is quite strange, and Miss Greene isn’t only the wallflower she seems to be. How did you find them?”

Cloudia closed her eyes. Her long lashes touched her skin, and light got entangled between them. It looked marvellous. “These are stories better to be told somewhere else – not in this idyll.”

“And your cousins? The Queen? Milton?” Cedric kept asking, and Cloudia opened her eyes again. However, she still didn’t look at him but watched birds flying over the sky.

“They are my _cousins_ , Undertaker. We’re blood-related. I don’t even like them very much. Queen Victoria is my _employer_. We may know each other for years now, and therefore share a close relationship, but we could never be friends. And Milton – I already told you why I cannot call him a friend.”

“And what about us?”

She turned her gaze away from the birds and directed it to Cedric.

“You are my colleague,” she said softly. “You’re informally an Aristocrat of Evil. We are not friends. Also, I hold the view that it’s possible for two people to cultivate a friendly relationship – without being friends or lovers.”

Cloudia stood up and smoothed her dress. “And now – let’s talk about a different topic. We’re on holidays, after all, Undertaker.”

Cedric smiled. “Of course, Countess.”

“You said you were nearsighted?”

“I am _terribly_ nearsighted. It’s a Grim Reaper trait. If you ever meet another one of my kind, which I do not hope, he or she will wear glasses and have these ridiculous yellow-green eyes.”

She bent forward and rested her hands on her knees to be able to look straight into his eyes. “I don’t think they’re ridiculous,” Cloudia said firmly. “I actually think your eyes are unique and beautiful, Undertaker.”

Cedric stared at her in disbelief. Had she just _complimented_ him?

Before his brains could handle this strange circumstance, Cloudia had already reached forward and snatched away his glasses. With a girly giggle, she ran over the meadow, leaving Cedric blind and helpless on the picnic blanket.

 

 

_This damn girl._

 

 

“Hey! I can’t see without them! Come back!” Cedric shouted after her.

He heard a chuckle. “You’re shouting to the wrong direction, Undertaker!”

“Bring me back my glasses, Countess!”

“Never!”

“That’s inappropriate behaviour, Countess! You’re acting like a child!” he yelled.

“Weren’t _you_ the one who told me to laugh and behave like a seventeen-year-old? Or was it just my imagination?”

Cedric scowled.

 

 

_This goddamn girl._

_Using my own words against me._

_And still, I couldn’t hold back my smile._

 

 

Cedric rose up and managed not to stumble over the picnic basket when he ran after Cloudia. Her childish giggle betrayed her, and he could follow her a bit, but, in the end, he was too slow. He couldn’t see clearly. He could only hear her giggle, but couldn’t properly tell from where exactly her voice came from.

After half an hour of this strange variant of the tag game, Cloudia finally stopped to move but laughed like a little, silly schoolgirl. Cedric ran towards her but didn’t stop at the right moment, and the two of them fell down on the pasture. He was now lying on top of her. She was holding his glasses and laughed. From this range, Cedric could see a bit of her face. Wasn’t it beautiful how laughter could make someone even lovelier?

He took his glasses from her and put back them on. Then, he looked down at her.

“You’re such an impossible girl, Countess,” Cedric said with a faked stern tone and grinned.

“You’re ruining my dress, Undertaker! Get off of me!” Cloudia giggled. Cedric stood up and helped her up.

Cloudia leaned against him for a moment and then gazed into his eyes. “I really _do_ like your eyes,” she admitted with a soft smile on her lips. “I have never seen such a colour before. It’s wonderful.” Then, she grabbed the ribbon, which held together Cedric’s hair in a ponytail, and undid the bow. His long grey hair fell loosely over his shoulders and back.

“It’s better like this, isn’t it?”

He stared at her. “Are you the real Countess? I think that you got somehow exchanged with someone else.”

“By the way, Undertaker,” Cloudia started, ignoring his remark, “if you _are_ so ridiculously nearsighted – wouldn’t it be better if you learned how to use your other senses better? You become utterly useless the moment you lose your glasses. You will get killed if this happens during a fight. You need to strengthen your other senses, and not only rely on your eyes, Undertaker.”

Cedric shook his head in amusement. “I will work on it, but I still think you’re a changeling.”

“I can’t be a changeling. Then, I must have been exchanged as a baby or a toddler.”

“Probably you were. And now, your true wicked faerie self is showing.”

Cloudia took his hand and guided him back to the blanket, the most beautiful of smiles gracing her face. “Wasn’t I always wicked?”

 

 

Cedric told her more about Grim Reapers in general, when they were sitting on the blanket again. When he was about to explain to her that the Dispatch consisted of several divisions with their own duties, Cloudia ran her hand through his hair all of a sudden. Then, she grabbed it, resulting in Cedric staring at her in shock.

“Keep talking,” she ordered him – and then started to _braid_ his long hair casually. “And keep still. It will become unnecessarily difficult if you don’t.”

Cedric continued to talk about the different divisions and their duties – until Cloudia started to braid _flowers_ into his hair.

“Countess,” Cedric said in a very serious voice. “Jokes aside – have you caught a cold? A fever? Are you terminally ill? Was anything in your food that you cannot stomach? Is your headache torturing you?”

Cloudia chuckled.

 

 

_I liked it that she was suddenly so carefree, and actually enjoying our holiday together. But there was a thin line between cheerfulness and ridiculousness._

_And if she_ had _become insane, due to her headache, for example, our deal would break as she could not be the Queen’s Watchdog anymore._

 

 

“I’m just braiding your hair, Undertaker,” Cloudia replied. She rubbed her neck, before continuing to decorate his hair with flowers.

“You’re braiding _flowers_ into my hair, Countess.”

“I know that, Undertaker.”

“But – why would you do that if you’re not ill or insane?”

“Because it’s cute.”

Cedric stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”

“Constantia showed me how to do this when we were little. And, _of course_ , I excel at braiding flowers into someone’s hair. I’m a prodigy, a genius after all.”

“No one said that.”

“The Queen and her advisers say that. Also, _I_ say that. I became the Watchdog at age twelve which makes me the youngest person ever to become the ruler’s Watchdog. _And_ I did never fail. Besides, I don’t get much help from others.”

“Are Miss Greene, Alfred, and I just ghosts?”

“Well... you _are_ dead, Undertaker.” She let go of his hair. “Done! You look _marvellous_ , Undertaker.”

“I hate you.”

“Like a fairy tale princess.”

“I hate you so much.”

She chuckled. “And now, _you’re_ the grumpy one, Undertaker.”

Cedric turned around to face her. “I’m not grumpy.”

Cloudia tilted her head and folded her arms in front of her chest. “Of course, you are grumpy, Undertaker!”

“I’m not grumpy – I just think that I need to speak with Lady Matthews about the things she teaches you.”

“She doesn’t teach me anything anymore. It was in the past. When we were very little...” All of a sudden, Cloudia stopped talking. Instead of continuing to talk, she gathered a few flowers and put them on her lap. With absolute concentration, Cloudia began to braid the flowers.

“Why did you stop talking?” Cedric wanted to know. Before she answered him, Cloudia finished to plait the flowers into a crown, and quickly put them on his head.

“ _Now_ you look like a true fairy tale princess,” Cloudia said with a firm nod.

“I hate you so much,” Cedric mumbled, but he couldn’t hold back a grin. “And now, tell me, why did you stop talking?”

She put her hands on her lap and stared at her lace gloves. “I remembered that Constantia had also taught me how to make flower crowns. I thought one would suit you fairly well.”

“And the _real_ reason?”

Cloudia looked up. Something strange was in her gaze. “Constantia taught me these things before my father died. Before I became the sole heir to the Phantomhive name.”

Cedric’s eyes widened, and he wanted to say something, when Cloudia looked incredibly pained from one moment to the other.

Worried, he pushed back a loose streak of her hair and put his hand on her head. “What is the matter, Countess?” he asked her softly.

Slowly, she shook her head. “It has gotten worse,” Cloudia whispered. Only now, Cedric noticed how _hot_ Cloudia’s hair actually was.

When exactly had she put down her straw hat?

And then, all of a sudden, Cloudia put a hand over her mouth and bent forward and over the meadow. The next moment, the always sophisticated Cloudia Phantomhive vomited onto the pasture. Her body shook a bit, when she straightened up and looked at him with a painful look on her red face.

“Damn,” Cedric cursed and helped her to stand up slowly. He picked up her hat from the ground and put it back on her head. Quickly, he put together their things and let them vanish into the basket.

“We need to get you out of the sun,” he told her, holding on to her. Cloudia didn’t look at him, didn’t even seem to _realise_ that he was talking to her. “Dammit,” mumbled Cedric. His grip tightened. “I will bring you back to the cottage.”

Cedric picked Cloudia up and hurried back to the cottage. He couldn’t lose any time now.

 

***

 

_It was good that Jocelyn had come back while Cloudia and I were absent. I told her what had happened, and Jocelyn hurried back to the nearby town to get a doctor for Cloudia, but not before she helped Cloudia out of her dress and into a nightgown. Jocelyn instructed Arwyn and me to cool down her body with cold cloths._

_“It’s a sunstroke,” the physician, Jocelyn had brought to the cottage, told me after he was done examining Cloudia. “We’re lucky that it isn’t a heat stroke.”_

_He gave Jocelyn some medicine and instructed us to give Cloudia some water, when she came to consciousness. Also, he said that Cloudia needed a lot of rest now. Besides, we needed to continue cooling down her body with the cold cloths, and the physician gave us instructions for the medicine. Then, he left, saying that he would come back tomorrow._

_Later, when Arwyn and Jocelyn were asleep, I sneaked into Cloudia’s bedroom. She was lying like a corpse in her bed._

_It was my fault. She hadn’t been feeling well yesterday – and today I didn’t even ask her about her headache._

_I sat down on the chair from yesterday. Cloudia was sleeping and looked like a beautiful porcelain doll._

“Where is the good ol’ Earl? Letting his doll fiancée alone?”

“Doll fiancée? Earl? I’m sorry, Damsels, but you seem to have got something wrong: There. Is. No. Earl. Of. Phantomhive.”

_All of a sudden, I recalled Dempsey Morton’s and Cloudia’s exchange after Dempsey had called her a “doll fiancée.” I chuckled silently so that she wouldn’t wake up._

_Well, she was definitely_ no _porcelain doll. But she was indeed beautiful._

“Oh, Lady Phantomhive! Pardon, dearie – _Countess of Phantomhive_!”

“What... what a beautiful young girl you are, _Countess_! A girl like you! Watchdog! What a pity! How about...”

_A shiver ran through my spine when I remembered Dempsey’s words to Cloudia, when they had been alone in the basement of the Salisbury Villa._

_Good thing, that she had killed him in such a cold-hearted manner. Surely, no one would miss Dempsey Morton._

_Coming to think of it... Cloudia and I were partners for seven months now. The “Inner London Murders,” including the “Salisbury Bombing Incident,” had been our very first case. To be honest, it felt like we were actually working together since forever_ _‏_ _– and not only for seven months._

_In the past months, Cloudia and I had solved many, many more cases. Thus, we had spent a ridiculous amount of time together. When I was with her, I always had a reason to laugh, because of her comical seriousness or the fact that, sometimes, Cloudia behaved like a girl of her age without being conscious of it._

_I really did hope that she would recover soon._

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 _A few days after Cedric had almost murdered me with his idea to have a picnic in the middle of nowhere, when the sun was shining far_ too _brightly, I had finally recovered from my sunstroke. However, Jocelyn was unreasonably worried about my health and ordered me to stay in bed today, although the doctor had told us that I had fully recovered. I had even explained to her that I felt so well that I could_ run _back to the Phantomhive Manor without breaking out in a sweat._

 _At least, I could read_ The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club _. I hadn’t come too far until now because I had slept through the last few days._

“That punctual servant of all work, the sun, had just risen, and began to strike a light on the morning of the thirteenth of May, one thousand eight hundred and twenty-seven, when Mr Samuel Pickwick burst like another sun from his slumbers, threw open his chamber window, and looked out upon the world beneath.”

_Then, interrupting me_ _– and Samuel Pickwick –_ _, Cedric entered my bedroom._

 

 

“I’ve heard that you’re feeling better again, Countess!” he yelled and sat down on a chair next to Cloudia’s bed. A big grin was lying on his face.

“Jocelyn’s out,” he informed me. “She had to get a few things for dinner, so I can be as loud as I want. It will only bother you after all.”

“Thanks for the forbearance,” Cloudia replied bitterly and closed her book. Seemingly, she wouldn’t be able to continue _The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_ today.

 

 

_What a pity._

 

 

“Look what I have found in the cottage’s attic,” Cedric said and showed Cloudia a chess board and a bag with chessmen while grinning like a little child on Christmas morning. He pushed the bedside cabinet in-between the bed and his chair and placed the chess board on it. Then, he started to put the chess pieces in their respective places.

“I hope you’re aware of the rules of chess, Countess,” Cedric said while putting the bag away.

Cloudia laid her book on the bed. “Of course, I do.”

“That’s wonderful.” Joyfully, he hummed to himself.

“Are you humming _Tom, Tom, the Piper’s Son_?” Cloudia asked with a frown.

Cedric giggled. “Exactly! ‘ _Tom, he was a piper’s son, /He learned to play when he was young, /And all the tune that he could play/Was ‘Over the Hills and Far Away;’/Over the hills and a great way off, /The wind shall blow my top-knot off_...’ – I could sing this endlessly. But now, let’s play a game of chess, Countess.”

 

 

After Cloudia had lost fifty-four games in a row, Cedric burst into laughter and fell on the ground.

“You’re _really_ bad at this, Countess!” he snorted with laughter. “What a fine prodigy you are, Countess!”

He literally rolled on the floor while laughing, and his clothes became crinkled due to that.

Cloudia sighed. “I knew the rules perfectly before I turned seven, and beat my cousins when we were younger, and they annoyed me. You’re just playing like a professional, who has never done anything else than playing chess.”

Cedric was lying on the ground and stopped to roll around. His ponytail had loosened, and now the ground was covered with his long, grey hair. Cedric’s ridiculously beautiful chartreuse eyes lit up when he gazed up at her.

“Seven? I didn’t even know how to write my name when I was seven. Or seventeen. Or twenty. Or thirty. It’s impressive that you memorised the rules so well at such a young age, Countess.”

He started to laugh again, holding his belly. “But you’re still horrible at chess! Guehehe.”

Cloudia sighed again. “Fine, fine. When did you learn how to play chess, Undertaker?”

“Sometime after I became a fully-fledged Grim Reaper,” he told her, sitting up in a tailor seat with one fluent movement. “Someone from the Dispatch taught it to me – and immediately regretted it because I, his student, his apprentice, beat him all the time as I turned out to be a true genius at chess.”

“Chess and _Tom, the Piper’s Son_ ,” Cloudia said in a thought. “Are there more things you like? And I have to endure?”

“Don’t you like chess? And _Tom, the Piper’s Son_?” Cedric sounded sad and... hurt.

“Well...” she began. “I like chess. However, I’m not very fond of _Tom, the Piper’s Son_.”

“Didn’t you have a childhood, Countess?” He leaned back, resting his hands behind him on the ground to prevent falling backwards.

“‘ _And all the tune that he could play/Was ‘Over the Hills and Far Away’_ ,’” Cedric sang joyfully.

“I don’t know how you spent _your_ childhood, but _I_ was trained to be the next Watchdog. I didn’t have time to learn nursery rhymes,” Cloudia replied with a scowl.

He chuckled uncharacteristically bitterly. “Then we’re already two, Countess.” Cedric raised up and smoothed his clothes. “I learned this song when I was already an adult.”

Cedric grinned at her and tapped onto the chess board. “Want to play another round?” he asked her as if nothing had happened.

 

 

Another forty-six rounds later, Cedric and Cloudia decided that one hundred rounds of chess were enough for a single day. And, naturally, Cedric had won every single one.

“It’s clear that you know the rules,” he said. “But you’re just too _stiff_. You’re absolutely inflexible. You know the basics, the rules, the most common strategies – but you’ve never learned how to _use_ them properly. You need to be alert for every move your opponent makes, and then you need to think of a fitting counterattack.” Cedric collected the chessmen and put them back into the bag. He held up the Black Queen.

“See? It’s you, Countess. Isn’t she cute?” He grinned widely, and put the Black Queen to the others, while Cloudia rolled her eyes in annoyance. When Cedric was done collecting the chessmen, he nodded towards Cloudia’s copy of _The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_.

“We spoke about favourite things earlier. You, for example, seem to be quite crazy about Charles Dickens.” He pointed at the bookshelf. “It’s _full_ of his books.”

“I just like his stories,” Cloudia replied with a shrug.

“You’re _totally crazy_ about his stories, Countess.” He wanted to grab _The Posthumous Papers of the Pickwick Club_ , but Cloudia furiously slapped away his hand.

“Touch _any_ of my books, and I will chop off your hand,” she threatened him, and Cedric laughed.

“You’re _really_ enamoured of Dickens, aren’t you?”

“I am just fond of his work.”

“It would be more believable if you told me that shining, pink elephants exist, which can fly around and bring me to the lost empire of Atlantis,” Cedric replied.

“So? I don’t tease you for loving a _nursery rhyme_ either. Which is for _children_. _Tiny, little babies_.” Cloudia grinned wickedly.

“Now you’re just cruel.”

“Cruel? Me? I murder people for a living, but I don’t make fun of people for their favourite things. _You_ were the one who started with that!”

Cedric blinked exaggeratedly and theatrically put one hand on his chest. “ _I_ was surely not the one, who began to make fun of people for holding a ridiculous love for Charles Dickens’ novels.”

“ _Of course_ , you were! You even admitted it just now!”

He giggled. “I did _not_ , Countess.”

“Practically,” Cloudia added, scowling.

“Not even practically. You’re imagining things, Countess. I think you need to stay in bed a little longer.”

She laughed for a very short moment and punched against his arm. “You’re impossible, Undertaker.”

Cedric smiled so brightly that even the sun would envy his glow. “At least, I am not a Charles Dickens fanatic.”

The next moment, Cloudia threw a pillow at Cedric’s face. Then, she tackled him, jumping out of the bed, after the pillow had sent his glasses flying and he couldn’t see anything anymore. Cedric fell from the chair, and he and the chair made a terrible noise when they touched the ground. Cloudia pinned him down. Her wicked grin widened. Sometime between the throw of the pillow, her tackling, and the fall to the ground, she had been able to get the dagger which she now pressed against his throat.

“I am terribly sorry, Undertaker, but I still have not recovered in a proper manner, so, unfortunately, I could not hear the words you have just spoken.” She tilted her head, the grin still on her face. “Would you be so nice and repeat them for me?”

Cedric chuckled. Apparently, he didn’t mind the dagger at his throat. “You’re so _hilarious_ , Countess!”

“You should be thankful that I need you, and therefore cannot simply cut your throat,” she said with a smile. “Also, this dagger is far too important to be stained by your filthy blood.”

He giggled. “You’re a silly, little girl, aren’t you, Countess?” He poked her cheek.

“If you continue to tease me, I will not go easy on you.” She pressed the dagger firmer against his throat.

From one moment to the other, Cloudia couldn’t hold herself back anymore and burst into laughter. She rolled down from Cedric and reclined beside him on the carpeted ground. With the dagger pressed against her chest, Cloudia laughed loudly, and Cedric soon joined.

“I am glad that you are okay again, Countess,” he said after a while.

 

 

 

**Countryside, Wales, United Kingdom –** **August 1847**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_Two days later, when Jocelyn had finally stopped being overprotective of Cloudia, said Countess told me to meet her in the living room after lunch._

_I knew that she had planned something terrifying._

_My theory was confirmed when I entered the living room, and Cloudia presented me her mischievous grin._

_Did I mention that I had mixed feelings for this smile?_

 

 

“You did come,” Cloudia said, her grin gracing her face in a frightening manner. “Then, we can start.”

“I know that I annoy you from time to time,” Cedric suddenly blurted out. “But you cannot just murder me here! Think about the carpet! Think about poor Jocelyn and Arwyn who have to clean up my blood!”

“You’re being silly,” she told him, rolling her eyes. Today she wore a lavender-coloured dress with a similar frame as the dress from their picnic trip.

“I would _never_ murder anyone when possible witnesses are around. I would have to murder them too. Do you know how troublesome this process can be? The witnesses try to run away every single time. I have to run after them every single time. They still die every single time. They just don’t _learn_. Running away brings them nowhere. It is just an annoyance for the people who will kill them anyway.

“Therefore, I always try to murder people when no one is around. Witnesses possess too few brain cells after all to reason that their pitiful try to run away is just... pitiful. Pitiful, pathetic, and paltry.”

“You have such a horrible character, Countess, when you’re not engaging in some society business.”

“So?” She raised one of her eyebrows. “I am one of the most powerful women in this country. I _cannot_ live with just lovely flower arrangements and cute dresses. But enough of this nonsense. Let’s get started.”

With those words, Cloudia got out of the room and came back with Jocelyn a few minutes later – and Jocelyn had a violin with her.

 

 

_Cloudia forced me to learn dancing._

_She. Forced. Me. To. Learn. How. To._ Dance _._

_She had forced me to remember the names of all the spoons in the world, and walk around with a staple of books on my head. She had forced me to do many, many other ridiculous things._

_And now, Cloudia actually forced me to_ dance _._

_I knew that there were devils, demons in this world. I had never encountered one, though. But now I was sure that I had finally met one._

_I had never imagined them to be_ so _dreadful._

 

 

“Could you please stop _stepping on my feet_ , my dear Duke?”

“Could you please tell Jocelyn _to stop playing the violin_ , my dear Lady?”

“Only if you learn how to dance the Waltz properly.”

“I hate you, Countess,” Cedric whispered to her so that Jocelyn wouldn’t hear it.

“And I _will surely_ murder you if you don’t stop stepping on my feet, Undertaker,” Cloudia replied silently with a grin.

 

 

_We danced for hours until Jocelyn announced that her shoulder had become stiff from playing the violin for so long. Cloudia told her that it was fine, and thanked her for the help. Jocelyn said goodbye to us and left us alone in the living room with a grin on her face. She closed the door behind her._

 

 

“You said that you _wouldn’t_ murder me,” Cedric pointed out when he let himself fall down onto a chair. “Roughly speaking, people become dead when their bodies completely stop to work. And _my_ body _definitely_ stopped to work. Congratulations: You murdered a dead thing, Countess.”

“You are far too lively to be truly dead, Undertaker,” Cloudia replied and sat down on a big armchair with all her grace.

“Also, teaching you how to dance was _inevitable_. Sooner and later, you, the Duke Underwood, would _have_ to dance on a party of a noble. I postponed the dancing lessons because we were terribly busy in the last months. But now, we’re free again and can finally start them.”

“I said that before, but I simply cannot say it often enough: I feel sorry for the children you will mother.”

Cloudia rolled her eyes. “You should _thank_ me for teaching you how to dance. You would have been mortified sooner or later otherwise.”

“I should thank you _for torturing me for hours_?” Cedric stared at her in disbelief. “ _You_ should thank the Grim Reaper rules that I cannot kill you!”

“Well... it wouldn’t have lasted so long if you hadn’t two left feet,” Cloudia countered.

Cedric groaned. “You’re such a...”

Before he could throw one of the worst curses the world had ever heard at her, someone knocked on the door. A few seconds later, Arwyn entered, bowed in front of them and gesticulated with his hands.

Cedric nodded and gave Arwyn an answer, who then bowed again and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ know sign language?”

“I live in this world longer than you ever will, kid,” he said, standing up. His legs felt numb, but he still managed not to fall down – face forward.

“I know a lot of things.” Cedric struggled to clap his hands together. “And now – let’s have dinner.”

 

 

“Excuse me, Lady Phantomhive, Duke Underwood,” Jocelyn Blevins suddenly began when all four of them – Arwyn, Cedric, Cloudia, and her – sat around the dining table and ate Sheperd’s pie – a meat pie which had a crust made of mashed potatoes. The dish was also named “Cottage pie,” but only if it was baked with beef meat. If you used lamb meat, the dish’s name was “Shepherd’s pie.” And like everything Arwyn Owens had ever cooked and will ever cook in the future, it tasted so delicious that you felt like being in heaven and personally dining with the angels.

“But are you two a couple?” Jocelyn continued her question, which resulted in Cloudia and Cedric almost choking on the meat pie simultaneously.

“We? A _couple_?” they exclaimed in unison after they had managed to swallow up the piece of meat pie in their mouth without dying. The next second, they faced each other in shock before beginning to murder the other with sharp glares.

Jocelyn started to laugh, while Arwyn looked up from his meal for a split second, frowned and then turned back his attention towards the Shepherd’s pie.

“I am sorry if my question bothered you,” Jocelyn said with a wide smile. “I was just curious because you two seem to get along very well. You are quite inseparable, and even went to holidays together.”

“We were forced,” they said again in unison, which resulted in another exchange of death glares.

 

 

 _This had become_ quite _creepy._

 

 

“We are business partners,” Cloudia explained to Jocelyn after clearing her throat. “Lately, we had a lot of work to do, and our boss forced us to take a few weeks off. But our boss also thinks it’s funny to send us to holidays _together_.”

Jocelyn laughed loudly. “You two have a fine boss.”

“I wouldn’t necessarily say that,” Cloudia mumbled and returned to eat the meat pie. Cedric knew that, at least for her, this topic was over.

“And what _is_ your work?” Jocelyn wanted to know.

“We are detectives,” Cedric answered a bit too proudly. “We work for Scotland Yard.”

Jocelyn’s eyes widened. “Lady Phantomhive too? A woman as a detective! Unbelievable!”

“She is not officially a member of Scotland Yard,” he informed her. “Investigating cases is one of her hobbies. She helps the Yard out a lot of times, because she has too much free time otherwise. She easily gets bored. So, she solves cases for fun. And I, as her old, loyal friend, help her.” Cedric leaned forward. “Lady Cloudia is a fragile girl after all.”

Cloudia kicked him under the table.

 

 

_She would scold me for that later, but it was definitely worth it._

_Because our time in Wales was limited and I knew that, the moment we returned to England and Cloudia resumed her duty as the Queen’s Watchdog, she would become the grumpy Countess I knew again._

_I couldn’t make our time in Wales last forever – but I could make the best out of it._

_And surely, even though Cloudia would never admit it, she would never forget our little trip to Wales – as she definitely enjoyed it as much as I did._

_For my part, this trip would always be one of my most beloved memories._

_Because I could meet Cloudia for the first time – and not the Countess. And because I was able to hear her laugh._

_Her laugh which was as heavenly as the angels’ own singing._


	10. The Countess, Meeting the Queen

_“You couldn't meet one Queen without meeting the other one.”_

* * *

 

**London, England, United Kingdom ‒ August 1847**

 

 

_The moment Cedric and I returned to my townhouse in London, we received a letter from the Queen. I had to fight my urge to immediately destroy the message, go straight back to my manor and tell the Queen, if she asked why I didn’t do what she had requested from me, that I simply hadn’t received it. That it had got lost before it reached me after my return._

_But, of course, she would know that if I lied to her, so I didn’t even try. I took the letter from Newman with a sigh. I would read it later._

 

 

“Did you have two enjoyable weeks in Wales, Lady Cloudia?” Newman asked after Cloudia had taken the Queen’s letter. He and Lisa had awaited Cloudia and Cedric in the townhouse. Originally, they had wanted to pick them up at the train station, but Cloudia had told them that they didn’t have to. Now, Lisa and Newman were standing in the otherwise empty entrance hall and welcomed their mistress and her investigative partner back. A few other servants had taken Cedric’s and Cloudia’s luggage.

“Surely, Newman,” Cloudia answered him politely. “The weather was wonderful; such was the scenery. The cottage’s cook was a brilliant man, and the landlady was very friendly too, even though she was very talkative. Overall, I spent two very nice weeks in Wales, although the Duke nearly got me killed on one occasion. I wished that you and Lisa had accompanied me. You would have liked it too. I regret my decision not to take you with me.

“But I promise that I will take you two with me when I revisit Wales.”

Newman bowed in front of her. “You are a true lady of benevolence, Lady Cloudia.”

Behind Cloudia, Cedric struggled to hold back a laugh.

Lisa looked suspiciously at Cedric like she did with every man she didn’t get to know better. Every man who knew about the true nature of the Phantomhive family and its head, of course. As a maid, Lisa could never look like that at some ignorant man. However, she surely scowled at such ignorant men in her mind.

“Duke Underwood attempted to murder you, Mylady?” Lisa asked, not taking her gaze from Cedric. She was remarkably beautiful with her shoulder-long light brown hair and her dark green eyes. But her lovely emerald eyes could also pierce someone in an eerily easy manner.

“He invited me to a picnic. However, I got a sunstroke, and was bed-ridden for a couple of days,” Cloudia told her. “It wasn’t like he tried to stab me while I slept.”

Cedric giggled a bit. “Only when you didn’t notice it, Countess.”

Lisa’s gaze got sharper, and Cloudia could see Cedric swallow. A small impish grin sneaked on her face when she saw this.

 

 

_Apparently, Cedric was only exceptionally polite to Lisa because he wanted her to like him – and to get her to stop mapping out the perfect murder plan to get rid of him every time they met._

 

 

“Well, I am tired from the long travel, Newman. Would you be so nice as to prepare some tea for the Duke and me?” Cloudia asked her butler who bowed at her in response.

“Of course, Lady Cloudia.” Despite his stature, Newman managed to be as silent as a cat, when he turned around and headed towards the kitchen.

“Lisa,” Cloudia said to her maid. “Please be so kind and unpack my luggage for me. When you are done, you are free to do anything you want until I give you another request.”

Lisa curtsied in front of her. “Yes, Young Mistress,” she replied, quickly taking a final look at Cedric before heading towards Cloudia’s chambers.

“I still want to know how you found these two odd fellows,” Cedric told her when they went to the townhouse’s drawing room.

“Not now,” she waved aside. In the middle of the drawing room was a round table with a few chairs around them. Cloudia sat down at one of them.

“I am too exhausted to tell you such a long story. _Two_ long stories.”

Cedric sighed. “Very well. But someday I _will_ get you to tell me these stories, Countess. You can count on it.” He sat down too. “But now, tell me: what did the Queen write to you today?”

Cloudia opened the letter with a paper knife which had lain on the table. Newman had probably placed it there – after receiving the letter, he would have known that she wanted to open it while taking a rest in the drawing room after her arrival. He was as courteous as always.

Cloudia read the letter and sighed deeply when she finished it. “Prince Albert has to stop her from writing any letters while pregnant,” she said grumpily and handed the letter to Cedric. “She’s always _too_ silly for anyone’s taste when she’s pregnant.”

“‘My dear Cloudia, I hope that you spent two enjoyable and refreshing weeks in Wales’,” Cedric read the first sentence of the letter and already giggled.

“Please continue,” Cloudia mumbled and massaged her temples. Her headache was starting again.

“‘Hopefully, the cottage and the servants I provided you were after your fancy. Surely it was not bothersome to take Duke Underwood with you? My greatest wish would come true if you were able to spend two lovely weeks in Wales, far away from any civilisation. And my second-greatest wish would become reality if you let me meet this young man you are always speaking of.’”

He looked up and raised one eyebrow. “You’re always speaking of me, Countess?”

“ _Just continue_ , Undertaker.”

“‘While writing this letter, I came across the thought that you have not visited me in quite a while now, Cloudia. You reported to me the outcome of the last four cases via letters and did not tell me about them in person. The Underworld never sleeps. Thus your work never ends – but is it not possible for you to visit me in Buckingham Palace for a cup of tea like we used to do so often when you were just a child and I merely a young, inexperienced queen? I can still remember your cute, childlike face. You were so incredibly adorable as a child, even though, I have to admit, you wore the same grumpy expression back then which you wear now.’” Cedric chuckled, and Cloudia groaned.

“‘But I do not intend to write a novel about our lovely tea parties, which are, sadly, now part of the past. I intend to invite you to Buckingham Palace, and tell me about Wales – and whether Mr Owens is still adept at cooking meals like directly brought from heaven? My beloved Albert wants to see you again too, and Vicky, Bertie, Alice, Affie, and Lenchen miss their dear ‘Aunt Lou.’ Also – you have seen Lenchen only once, have you not? You need to see her now; she has become much more precious after growing out of her baby phase.’” He looked up. “‘Aunt Lou’?”

“The Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales started calling me like that when they met me for the first time. They were just little children and had problems pronouncing ‘Cloudia,’ although my name is rather _not_ difficult to pronounce. However, they started calling me ‘Lou,’ and have completely forgotten that it isn’t my actual name. Later on, the two told their siblings that I am their ‘Aunt Lou.’ Thus Queen Victoria’s and Prince Albert’s numerous children keep calling me that, no matter what I do,” Cloudia explained to him grumpily.

Cedric chuckled. “How old are they by the way?”

“Right now?”

“No. I want to know how old they would have been in 1666 during the Great Fire of London if they had been immortals born during Augustus’ reign.”

Cloudia scowled at him before she said: “Princess Victoria, the Princess Royal, is six; Prince Albert, the Prince of Wales, is five – and _yes_ , they named their first two children after themselves –; Princess Alice is four; Prince Alfred, the Duke of Edinburgh, turned three today – and Princess Helena is only one year old. And next spring _there will be another royal child to list_.”

“They have a lot of kids,” Cedric pointed out.

“I keep telling her that _all the time_. But they just continue having more and more of them. Queen Victoria probably just does it to have more children, who can annoy me by calling me ‘Aunt Lou.’ And now, continue reading this ridiculousness of a letter.”

“‘How about you visit me in a week – on Saturday, the fourteenth? I guess, this should be fine. I look forward to seeing you again, my dear Cloudia. Your old friend, Queen Victoria. PS: It would be _splendid_ if you were able to bring Duke Kristopher Underwood with you.’”

Cedric burst into a short, bitter laugh when he finished the letter, which was quite unusual for him.

“The Queen wants _me_ to come too?”

“See? She’s being silly,” Cloudia said and sunk into her chair.

“Also... apparently _the monarch of Great Britain and Ireland_ considers you an old friend,” Cedric remarked and giggled. “You’re such a liar, Countess. You _do_ have friends after all!”

“Queen Victoria is _not_ my friend. She is _the Queen_ and my employer. I can’t help it if she’s a ridiculous person by nature. Pregnant women do not invite people or go to invitations, by the way. Her request is absolutely inappropriate.”

“Well...” He put the letter down on the table. “Will you go?”

“I have to,” Cloudia groaned and sat up straight again. Her head was beginning to feel numb. “She will send me a million letters otherwise. And if _I_ weren’t her personal assassin, she would surely put out a contract on me.” She rubbed her eyes. “Also – what I want to say is that _you_ will have to accompany me to Buckingham Palace.”

“No way,” Cedric said automatically. “I will _not_ meet the Queen. I am dead, I am a supernatural creature, I was never of any high class – not when I was alive, and surely not now. I cannot meet her.”

“That does not matter, Undertaker. Victoria wrote ‘splendid’ in bold and with a different pen than the one she used for the rest of the letter. A different pen with a thicker point. She is _serious_. If I come to Buckingham Palace without you, it will be the end of us. And do not underestimate the Queen. She will find you and punish you if you skip her little tea party – no matter if you are a Grim Reaper or not.”

“I don’t want to go. I know a lot about the etiquette, but not enough to meet a _queen_. And I don’t want to have another one of your murderous teaching lessons.”

“Don’t be a baby, Undertaker,” Cloudia said. “It will be fun. The lessons will be fun; the tea party will be fun. Perhaps the Princess Royal and the Prince of Wales will come up with a fancy nickname for you too? ‘Uncle Kris’? ‘Uncle Krissy’? ‘Uncle Woody’? ‘Uncle Topher’? ‘Uncle Glasses’? ‘Uncle Toph’? And how about ‘Uncle Tophy’? Or...”

“Just stop it,” Cedric interrupted her.

Newman entered the drawing room – two porcelain teapots, a sugar bowl, another bowl, two silver spoons, two tea cups, a plate with biscuits on it, and a honey dipper on the tray which he was carrying. He put the tray on the table and placed the cups in front of Cedric and Cloudia respectively.

“I am sorry for being late,” Newman said. “Miss Agatha had problems with the laundry and asked me to lend her a hand.”

Cloudia scowled for a split second before she nodded, smiling at her butler. “Very well. You are excused.”

He lowered his head. “Thank you, Lady Cloudia.” He straightened up and raised one can. There was a beautiful flower pattern on it.

“I prepared Earl Grey tea,” Newman announced and filled Cedric’s cup. Then, the butler put the can down.

“Do you want to have any sugar with your tea, Your Grace?”

“No thanks, Alfred,” Cedric replied politely, and Newman raised the other can and poured hot milk into Cloudia’s cup.

“I saw the pained look on your face, Lady Cloudia. Therefore, I prepared hot milk with honey for you.”

Cloudia smiled tiredly at him. “Thank you, Newman.”

 

 

_Newman was a true treasure. Every pirate would put him in a chest, and bury him in some desert island far away._

 

 

Newman put honey into the milk. “Do you need anything else, Lady Cloudia?”

“No thanks, Newman. You are dismissed,” she said. Her butler bowed in front of her and silently left the drawing room.

“Alfred _is_ really creepy,” Cedric said after Newman was gone, and put a biscuit into his mouth.

“He is just observant,” Cloudia replied, and took a sip. She could taste the sweetness in her mouth, and the warmth filled her belly and the rest of her body.

What would people do without hot milk with honey? She honestly did not know. Cloudia already felt her headache decreasing.

“How did you meet him again?”

“We already spoke about this topic,” Cloudia reminded him. “And I hope you are not becoming senile?”

“I don’t become senile. I just wanted to exploit the fact you are having a headache to try getting this story out of you.”

“You are not sneaky enough for that, Undertaker,” she stated and stood up after she had finished her hot milk with honey. “Seven months are not enough to learn to be sneaky enough for _anything_.”

“And how long did it take _you_ to become ‘sneaky enough’?” Cedric wanted to know.

Cloudia stopped in the doorway and looked at him over her shoulder. “I am a Phantomhive. Being sneaky and wicked is in my _blood_. And now, excuse me. I am tired and want to go to sleep. Eat as many biscuits as you wish. And _please_ , do not bother my servants. We will start the preparations for the Queen’s tea party tomorrow. Good night, Undertaker.”

With these words, she turned around and left the drawing room.

 

***

 

“And why exactly do we need to get new clothes?” Cedric asked innocently when they drove with the carriage to a tailor’s shop the next day. It was a bright day outside – and the English gentry hurried to prepare as many parties, soirées and similar social events as they could before this year’s Season ended. Because Cloudia was “Lady Phantomhive” for the public, she received a lot of invitations for these events. Even Cedric, who slowly became known as “Duke Kristopher Underwood from America who is always at Lady Phantomhive’s side,” obtained a few invitations. As nobles – or a noble and an impostor – they had to attend at least one or two of these events per Season. From May to the middle of July, Cloudia and Cedric had been drowned in Watchdog work. The last few weeks of July and the first days of August, they had spent in Wales. Thus they hadn’t attended any party until now.

As a consequence, they would have to go to one of those “last-minute” Season events. Cloudia fairly wasn’t looking forward to them. And, surely, Cedric wasn’t too either.

However, they had to think of another, more important thing now: the audience in Queen Victoria’s drawing room, or simply “Victoria’s little tea party.”

“We are going to meet the Queen of the United Kingdom,” Cloudia told him in annoyance. “There are specific rules to follow for such an opportunity. We need to get certain clothes, for example.”

“What kind of clothes?” Cedric asked suspiciously.

“For you, an elegant uniform – and for me, a pure white dress.”

“A white dress?”

She nodded. “It’s regulation. I will also have to wear my hair up.”

“You always wear your hair up, Countess.”

“I will have to wear my hair up _in a different style_.” Cloudia sighed. “It’s a very loose style, and absolutely inappropriate for fighting. I don’t like it very much.”

“I don’t think that you will have to _fight_ while attending the Queen’s audience.” He chuckled.

“Generally speaking, of course. Also, I will have to wear a _veil_. I always feel like I’m getting married when I visit the Queen.”

Cedric burst into laughter. “How do you even intend to get married?” he asked after he had stopped laughing. “You are engaged to a fictional Earl, after all.”

“Don’t worry about that,” Cloudia waved aside. “I thought about everything just before I was decorated. _I_ was the one who came up with the usage of a fictional ‘Earl of Phantomhive’ after all.” She leaned back. “Someday, I will just have to _create_ myself an Earl. Like I created ‘Duke Kristopher Underwood.’ On that day, I will turn that lie into reality.”

“I think you read _Frankenstein_ far too often, Countess.”

“I read _Frankenstein; or, The Modern Prometheus_ by Mary Shelley _only_ twelve times,” Cloudia replied. “Also, I do not intend to _build_ myself a husband.”

“ _Only_ twelve times? I think you don’t know the true meaning of the word ‘only,’ Countess.”

“Is twelve times very much? I read _Oliver Twist_ at least fifty times, and _Emma_ around seventy times. I also read all eighteen volumes of the _Edinburgh Encyclopaedia_ twenty-seven times each, and all twenty volumes of the _Encyclopaedia Britannica_ around nine times.”

“How the hell did you get so much free time?”

Cloudia shrugged. “I read them so often _before_ I became Watchdog.”

“You were a lonely child, weren’t you?” he asked and sounded surprisingly sad.

“I was trained to become the Watchdog ever since my sixth birthday. While skipping classes and running away from my teachers and maids, so I could read and teach myself everything on my own, I was not visited much by my cousins. Prior to my father’s death, they used to visit me a lot – and I visited _them_ a lot. Later on, we only saw each other at birthday parties, or when it was Easter or Christmas. It was nice, though. I liked being on my own. However, after I was decorated, Constantia and the others started visiting me more often, albeit not as much as in the past,” Cloudia explained to him.

“You were lonely,” he said again, his voice strangely soft. “I didn’t have a wonderful childhood – but I was never lonely until the very end.”

She stared at him with thin lips. “My childhood ended when my father died,” Cloudia said dryly, turning towards the carriage’s window, and thus ending their conversation.

 

***

 

Donna Antonia Rossini’s tailoring wasn’t a very well-known business in London, as it was just a tiny shop in a side street of this big city. However, it was a very charming place due to its vivid owner, and the way she had decorated it. And Donna Rossini was a true genius when it came to tailoring. But because she didn’t want to do advertisements for her shop, or move into a larger building in a livelier area, her wonderful work wasn’t well-known. Only those who got lost and stumbled upon her tailor’s shop like someone would stumble over a treasure of gold, or her close friends knew about Donna Rossini and her creations, which could be easily labelled as “true works of art.”

At age thirteen, Cloudia Phantomhive had gone to London during 1843’s Season with the old butler of her father, Theodore Clifford. He had served her well until she found Alfred Newman and let him go into retirement – something which Clifford had definitely earned. However, when Cloudia had walked with Clifford to a bookstore to buy _Past and Present_ by Thomas Carlyle, they almost encountered Constantia Matthews and her maid, Maria. To prevent Constantia and Maria seeing them, Cloudia ordered Clifford to escape with her through some side streets – and eventually, they took shelter in Donna Rossini’s tailoring.

Antonia Rossini had been very friendly to them after Cloudia had explained the situation to her and even offered them tea and sweets. They had talked and chatted, while Donna Rossini grew fond of Cloudia and adored her tall, slender frame, her ivory skin, and her raven hair – telling Cloudia that she was every dressmaker’s “dream-model.” From that day on, Cloudia got almost all of her dresses made by Antonia. Many noblewomen complimented Cloudia’s dresses, and asked her who the tailor was; however, Antonia Rossini’s motto was “If it happens, it happens,” and thus did not like advertisements, so Cloudia never told anyone where she got her clothes. Besides, it always amused her how enraged the noblewomen became when she kept refusing to tell them her tailor’s name, no matter how long they asked her for it.

Their carriage stopped in front of “Sartoria Rossini.” Newman opened the carriage’s door and helped Cloudia out. Cedric got out of the carriage by himself, and he and Cloudia headed towards the dressmaker’s shop while Newman stayed by the carriage.

Cloudia opened the door and a little bell rung.

Sartoria Rossini smelled heavily like lavender. The whole shop was cramped with Baroque furniture and paintings; the brown wallpapers featured a light brown, symmetrical, “rolling” flower pattern, while a big aubergine carpet with black and golden flower borders graced the floor. From the ceiling hung a little chandelier which illuminated the shop in warm, golden light. Elaborately crafted vases harboured dark blue irises, orange marigolds, deep red cannas, raspberry red peonies and light pink hollyhocks. Their different scents somehow harmonised perfectly with the heavy smell of the lavender.

Although the shop always seemed to explode from the ridiculous amount of Baroque furniture, everything was always in order, and overall, the store was very neat.

“I heard customers!” Donna Antonia Rossini’s voice sounded from upstairs. The following moment, she stepped downstairs.

As always, Antonia Rossini wore very colourful, but simply tailored clothing which did not underline her physique. Her shoulder-long black curls framed her round, rosy face in an unordered manner – they were just untameable. Her eyes were dark green and shone with vitality.

“Contessa Claudia!” the Donna said joyfully. “I have not seen you in a while!”

She hurried towards Cloudia and hugged her lightly.

 

 

 _We knew each other for four years – and unlike Constantia, Antonia Rossini was actually able to_ learn _from mistakes._

 

 

Antonia let go of Cloudia and held her at arm’s length. “You become more and more beautiful with every passing day!”

Then, Donna Rossini finally noticed Cedric.

“Mamma mia! Who is the young man you have brought with you? Is it your mysterious promesso?” The dressmaker scrutinised him.

Cloudia shook her head. “This is Duke Kristopher Underwood. He is a good friend of mine from America.”

Antonia Rossini laughed and headed towards Cedric. “You’re a very tall and slim young man, did anyone say that to you?” She poked him in the chest with one of her long fingers. “The clothes you wear are certainly made of very little fabric.” She chuckled at her own little joke.

Then, suddenly, Antonia put a hand over her mouth, and her eyes widened. “Mamma mia! I have almost forgotten to introduce myself! I am Donna Antonia Rossini, a humble tailor, Vostra Eccellenza.”

Cedric giggled. Probably he liked the way Antonia spoke. “I am Duke Kristopher Underwood, Donna Rossini. It’s an honour to meet you, even though you are _a humble tailor_.”

Donna Rossini giggled too. Cloudia rolled her eyes.

 

 

_Perhaps, I should have brought Cedric to another tailor and gone to Donna Rossini on my own._

 

 

Cloudia cleared her throat. “Donna Rossini, the Duke and I will be meeting Queen Victoria in her drawing room on August 14,” she said, guiding the conversation towards the reason for their coming to Sartoria Rossini. “It will be the first time that the Duke meets the Queen. Therefore, we need some suitable clothes for this special occasion.”

Antonia clasped her hands together. “Mamma mia! An audience!” She patted Cedric’s back. “What a lucky man you are, Duca!”

She turned towards Cloudia. “Let me guess – you also need a new dress, Vostra Grazia?” Cloudia nodded, and Donna Rossini started to laugh again. “Naturalmente! I knew you would.” The dressmaker closed her eyes for a moment, before opening them again.

“Sì! Sì! I see it! Excuse me, please! Scusa!” With these words Antonia Rossini hurried upstairs, leaving Cedric and Cloudia alone in the shop. Tired, Cloudia sat down on one of Donna Rossini’s lovely Baroque chairs. This one had a golden frame, cushions in a duller tone of gold, and no armrests.

“Donna Rossini is a very cheerful person,” Cedric stated and eyed a gold and brown dresser with impressive and very detailed engravings. “However, I noticed something.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “ _You_ noticed something?”

He turned towards her, the dresser was suddenly forgotten. “Jokes aside. Donna Rossini called you ‘Contessa,’ the Italian equivalent to ‘Countess.’”

“You know Italian?”

“No! But ‘Contessa’ is just too awfully similar to ‘Countess’ for me _not_ to know.”

“So? ‘Proprio’ sounds similar to ‘proper,’ however, it is the Spanish word for ‘own.’ The Spanish word for ‘proper’ is ‘verdadero.’ So your argument is not decisive, Undertaker,” Cloudia countered and leaned back.

“But does ‘Contessa’ mean ‘Countess’?”

“Yes.” She brushed non-existent dust from her cornflower blue dress.

“I hate you.”

Cloudia shrugged.

Cedric scowled at her and cleared his throat. “What I want to say is... Why does Donna Rossini know about your _proper_ title?”

She rolled her eyes. “Undertaker – I told her about my engagement. She thinks my betrothed is an Earl, and, even though I am not married yet, Donna Rossini already calls me that, _because that will be my title after my marriage_.” Then, Cloudia grinned wickedly and rested her head on one of her hands – an action which would have been a bit easier with a chair with arm rests.

“Did you worry that I just got you to meet one of my Aristocrats of Evil without telling you? One of the most devilish aristocrats in the United Kingdom? Were you ready to pee yourself?”

“I am a _Grim Reaper_ , Countess. _I don’t pee myself_ ,” Cedric replied grimly.

“But you _do_ sing _children’s_ songs to cheer yourself up.”

“I thought we were done with this topic.”

Her grin widened the moment before Antonia Rossini came back.

“I just doodled my first ideas for your special clothes!” she announced and took a measuring tape out of the dresser, Cedric had examined a few minutes earlier, in a fluent, fast movement.

“Vostra Eccellenza! I need to take a few measures! But first...” Donna Rossini batted one eyelid in Cloudia’s direction. “Vostra Grazia! Contessa Claudia! Surely, you have grown since the last time we met?”

Cloudia rose from her chair and smoothed her dress. “Perhaps,” she answered.

Antonia laughed. “You have always grown a bit when you visit me! You are such a bella e alta bambina, Contessa!” Joyfully, she linked arms with Cloudia. “Let’s measure you, Contessa Claudia! And you are the next one, Duca Cristoforo.”

 

 

_While Donna Rossini led me upstairs, I heard Cedric almost choking on her words. Undoubtedly, he did not like it to be called “Duca Cristoforo.” And undoubtedly, he would hear this address more often._

_A grin sneaked upon my lips when I walked up the stairs, my arm linked with Donna Rossini’s._

 

_After we had wrapped up our business with Donna Rossini, and she promised us that the uniform and the dress would be ready on August 13, Cedric and I headed back to the townhouse. The following six days, I prepared Cedric for his first audience with the Queen. The only breaks I got during that time where when he was out doing Grim Reaper work. I also instructed him to somehow manage to get off work on August 14, or the whole plan would shatter, and Cedric would die once more. He nodded and said that he would just request a day off._

_Exhausted and sleep-ridden, Cedric and I sat down in the townhouse’s library and did nothing in the evening on August 13. In the last days, I had trained him even through the nights, but tomorrow was the audience, and we couldn’t appear with dark circles under our eyes._

_At exactly nine o’clock in the evening, Newman knocked on the library’s door and told us that he had successfully retrieved the clothes from Sartoria Rossini. I had thanked him before he left the room._

_Cedric and I talked for a few minutes before we just couldn’t stay awake anymore. Using the rest of our strength, we said good night to each other and headed towards our respective bedrooms._

 

 

“I look silly,” Cedric Rossdale said the next morning after Newman had helped him getting into Donna Rossini’s hand-made uniform.

“It actually suits you,” Cloudia Phantomhive replied from behind a folding screen. Lisa still helped her getting into her dress.

“You can’t even see me!”

A few moments later, Lisa stepped out from behind the folding screen and narrowed her eyes at Cedric. You could almost _feel_ the suspicion she held towards Cedric on your skin, and touch it with your bare hands.

“Lisa, please be so nice as not to murder the Duke today – the Queen will not be pleased. You may do it tomorrow,” Cloudia said and stepped out from behind the screen. Immediately, Cedric’s eyes widened at the sight of her.

“You... you...”

“Countess, may I speak up?” Lisa asked her mistress.

“You may, Lisa.”

She lowered her head. “You are too kind, Mylady.” Then, Lisa cleared her throat. “Apparently, the Duke is going to soak the carpet with his saliva – should I go and fetch a bowl for him, Mylady?”

Cloudia grinned but shook her head. “You don’t need to, Lisa. The Duke will _not_ soak the carpet with his saliva – right, Duke?”

Cedric needed a few seconds to answer. “Uh... well... yes...”

The two women grinned at each other before Cloudia sat down on a chair and Lisa started coiffing the hair of her mistress.

“Well, Duke, you _do_ look quite nice in the uniform,” Cloudia informed him while her hair got fixed.

He cleared his throat. “You look... marvellous, Countess.”

“I changed my mind – Lisa, please go and get a bowl for the Duke.”

“Yes, Young Mistress,” Lisa replied, and was about to leave when Cedric cried out.

“Wait – no! I will _not_ dribble on the carpet!” he protested.

“But, Duke, it is looking quite a lot like you will. Are you absolutely sure that you will not need a bowl?” Cloudia said mischievously.

Cedric scowled at the two women who grinned at each other devilishly. “I just complimented on your dress, Countess.”

“While you were about to taint my carpet,” she added, amused.

“Why am I even talking to you?”

“Because no one else wants to talk to you?”

“You’re mean.”

“And it is _absolutely inappropriate, Duke Underwood_ , to stare at a girl like you want to eat her,” Cloudia replied harshly. “I may be looking great, but that is _no reason_ why you can act like that, do you understand me? I have no idea how life in America is, but you now belong to the English nobility. Therefore, you _cannot_ act like a hormone-ridden fifteen-year-old boy.”

Then, she added with a softer tone: “ _Of course_ , you can make compliments, Duke, but you should control the way you look like when you make them. Every other lady would have slapped you across the face with her reticule if you had looked at her like that. In the worst case, her husband or fiancée or father or elder brother – if applicable even in _plural_ – is around while you do it. And _then_ , you will _definitely_ look like an overripe plum. Or I will have to collect your individual parts, sew them back together, and make you my very own Frankenstein’s monster. You will be known as ‘Phantomhive’s monster.’ And because _no one_ seems to know the difference between Doctor Victor Frankenstein and Frankenstein’s monster, you will _actually_ be known as ‘Cloudia Phantomhive.’ People will wonder why you have a girly name.”

Cedric chuckled. “You’re so adept at giving advice, Countess.”

Cloudia shrugged lightly. “I know. Am I not great?”

 

 

_After Cedric and I had been fully dressed and ready for the audience with the Queen, Newman drove us in my most beautiful carriage to Buckingham Palace. We were greeted by the Queen’s servants when we arrived, and Newman helped me out of the carriage._

_I was wearing a lovely white dress with short sleeves, a roomy skirt and a dream of lace around the décolleté. The top of the dress was huddled tightly against my skin or better my corset. Around the ends of the sleeves, Donna Rossini had sewn a circle of thin, fine lace. The skirt was made of silk muslin and the top of satin. Also, a faint, golden pattern covered the dress’ skirt._

_I wore long, white gloves to the dress, and Lisa had curled my hair a bit before coiffing it into a chignon at the back of my head. She had also braided a few white flowers – begonias to be exact – into my hair and attached a veil with a delicate lily pattern in the part with the flowers. Around my neck, I had put on a silver and gold oval locket. On the front of the locket, a bird had been engraved which hovered over water lilies. It was a very simple necklace, but it was one of my favourites and fit perfectly with the dress. Usually, I wore the necklace with the skull-pendant which Cedric had given me, but today it would have been inappropriate to wear it alongside this wonderful dress._

_Cedric, on the other hand, suited a deep red wool uniform with a buff collar, cuffs and a piping trimmed in a golden braid with silvered collar insignia. The uniform also had gold cord shoulder boards, and a gold and crimson belt made of brocade with a gilt and silver buckle. It even possessed a matching brocade sash with tassels and a gold and blood-red cord aiguillette with gold points. Along with the red tunic, Cedric wore black trousers, and polished, black boots with thick soles. His grey hair was neatly combed and gathered in a ponytail, which was fixed with a thin vermillion bow._

_Cedric’s strange –_ beauteous _– chartreuse eyes glowed behind his polished glasses and looked even lovelier than usual in combination with the red uniform._

_Donna Antonia Rossini had managed not to make “clothes,” but “art” again. That was the reason why I adored her work._

_Cedric and I were lead inside Buckingham Palace, and into the throne room where Queen Victoria sat._

_Queen Victoria wore a colourful dress with short sleeves and a skirt made of various layers in different colours. One layer was white, but with two blue lines at the end, and red lace had been sewn on the rim. The second layer consisted of greyish purple lace. These two layers took turns in gracing the skirt._

_The top of Victoria’s dress was white, but her sleeves were of the same greyish purple colour as the second layer of her skirt. However, the sleeves also possessed a circle of red lace in the middle of the greyish purple material. Alongside the dress, the Queen wore a gold and blue brooch in the middle of her dress’ décolleté, a necklace with a sapphire pendant and a golden rim, and a golden bracelet with another sapphire in the middle._

_Victoria didn’t wear a crown or a tiara on her head, but a floral wreath made of red snapdragons as well. She was very fond of floral wreaths, and usually wore them instead of crowns or tiaras. And, of course, she loved the fact that I was adept at making them, and always asked me to make her some._

_Sometimes, she didn’t act like a queen, but more like a little girl._

_Oh, and did I mention that her belly already loomed under her dress?_

Cedric and Cloudia approached Queen Victoria. He bowed in front of the monarch of the United Kingdom and Ireland.

“It is a great honour to make your acquaintance, Your Majesty,” he said formally. “I am Kristopher Underwood, the Duke of Underwood.”

“It’s lovely to meet you, Duke Underwood,” Victoria replied with a gentle smile. Her round, rosy-cheeked face and the pale blue eyes gave her a similar calm and friendly aura to Cathleen.

“Welcome to Buckingham Palace. Unfortunately, my darling Albert is not able to attend our little tea party. I should excuse him as he has work to do,” she said before one of her servants helped her to rise from her throne, and walking down the few stairs to the ground. Then, the servant guided Victoria to the drawing room, and Cloudia and Cedric followed her. They sat down around a little table. On the table, you could find lovely little cakes and biscuits like in some recipe book. The table had been laid for three persons. Victoria, Cloudia and Cedric sat down around the table with Victoria in the middle. The Queen’s servants, and Newman, who had come with them. Even though he was very shy and possessed a misleading threatening aura, Victoria always warmly welcomed him inside; and Alfred Newman knew better than to refuse a queen’s orders – stood in the corners of the large drawing room, far away from their respective masters.

Cloudia caught Cedric glancing at the cakes from time to time, and even Victoria noticed his incorrigible behaviour. However, she laughed heartily.

“You may take one,” Victoria said with a light laugh. “They are not here for any decorative purposes, although they fairly look like it.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Cedric replied politely, and took one of the cakes and placed it on his plate. Then, he started to eat it as careful and dignified as he could.

“Cloudia has told me a lot about you,” Queen Victoria said. “You are an old acquaintance of hers, who immigrated to England from America after inheriting your uncle’s title and possessions, right?”

He nodded. “You are not mistaken, Your Majesty.”

“And you do help Cloudia with her work as my Watchdog? As one of the Aristocrats of Evil?”

“I do, Your Majesty.”

Victoria smiled and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It exuded a wonderful aroma. “It is the first time that I am able to meet one of the Aristocrats of Evil – except Cloudia, of course. She always holds me away from her business. I only give her the cases she has to execute and get her report after she has finished it. I am not part of the process of her work.” She drank a sip. “Perhaps it is better like that.”

The Queen turned her attention to Cloudia. “My dear old friend,” she said with a soft tone in her voice. “You look extraordinarily beautiful today.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“You do not need to be so formal with me, Cloudia. Did we not already talk about this topic, when you were in my drawing room at the age of ten? I am only eleven years older than you, my dear. We will work together for a very long time until one of us passes away. There is no place for formalities when you are tied to a person for such a long period of time.”

Cloudia’s lips were thin. “Of course, Victoria.”

The Queen smiled widely. “That is better, do you not agree with me? Do you share my opinion, Duke Underwood?”

Cedric chuckled. “Fairly, Your Majesty. However, I personally prefer to call her ‘Countess’ rather than by her first name.”

“Perhaps the time will come when you prefer ‘Cloudia’ over referring to her with her title.” Victoria took another sip. “You will work with her for a long time too. I am certain of it, Duke Kristopher.”

He chuckled again. “If you prefer calling people by their first names when working with them for a long time, and I will certainly be an Aristocrat of Evil for many, many years, I guess, it would be suitable for you to call me ‘Kristopher,’ Your Majesty.”

“So mote it be.”

One of Victoria’s servants silently approached her and whispered something into her ear. She nodded after he had finished and straightened up.

“Please, let them in,” she ordered him, and he went to open one of the doors to the drawing room.

Victoria, the Princess Royal, and her younger siblings, Prince Albert of Wales, Princess Alice and Prince Alfred, entered the drawing room with incredible dignity. A maid carried the youngest of the Royal children, Princess Helena.

Prince Albert’s and Queen Victoria’s five children all had brown hair and blue eyes, just like their parents. Victoria Adelaide and Alice wore short, finely-tailored dresses in the colours blue and flax respectively. The Princess Royal’s dress was also decorated in clematis. Their brothers, Albert Edward and Alfred, were also clothed in dresses. The Prince of Wales’ dress was of the colour of evening primroses, and Alfred’s of the colour of Tropaeolum, better known as nasturtium.

“Hello, Mother,” Little Victoria Adelaide greeted the Queen with a brief curtsy. “It is a pleasure to meet you again, Aunt Lou,” she said towards Cloudia with a full curtsy.

 

 

_Princess Victoria was the most intelligent of the Queen’s and Prince Albert’s children. Even before she turned five years old, she could even write and read. This reminded me a bit of my own childhood: since my father couldn’t always be there to read to me, he had taught me how to do it when I was barely three. And afterwards, I had been unstoppable._

 

 

Cedric chuckled, and Victoria hid her face behind a fan. She was definitely smirking at her daughter’s words; Cloudia could feel it.

“Did you have a nice journey, Aunt Lou?” Prince Albert Edward asked politely.

“How beautiful is Wales, Aunt Lou?” Princess Alice wanted to know.

“Did you meet the Warrior Knight? Or hear Princess Erilda’s cries, Aunt Lou?” Prince Alfred asked with wide eyes.

 

 

_A Welsh tale with the name “The Warrior Knight of the Blood Red Plume” exists, which was about a Warrior Knight and Erilda, Princess of North Wales. This tale was published in a very rare, little book of Welsh legends in 1803. I really wanted to know who told this story to such a young child like Prince Alfred._

 

 

Cloudia smiled politely, even though she wanted to hit them with a cricket bat or something similar for calling her “Aunt Lou” without mercy.

“It is wonderful to be finally able to see you again after such a long time, Princess Victoria,” she said. “And, thank you for the question, Prince Albert. I had a very nice journey. Wales is a very beautiful country, Princess Alice, and I wish that you will see it one day. Unfortunately, I didn’t go to Rhuddlan Castle, Prince Alfred, but I promise you that I will when I visit Wales for the next time and tell you everything about the Warrior Knight and Princess Erilda.”

All four children smiled at Cloudia. The servants brought another table and four chairs, together with more cakes, tea and biscuits so that the Royal children could sit together with their mother, Cloudia and Cedric in the drawing room. The maid who had carried Princess Helena handed her over to the Queen. Then, the maid went and got a baby’s high chair for the little princess.

“Your dress is wonderful, Aunt Lou,” Victoria Adelaide complimented and gently touched the fabric. “And your hair is _so_ lovely!”

“Thank you, Your Highness.” The young princess giggled at these words.

“Who is that man, Mother?” Prince Albert Edward asked Queen Victoria and eyed Cedric.

“This is Duke Kristopher Underwood, Bertie. A dear friend to your Aunt Lou,” Victoria answered.

“Aunt Lou’s friend?” Alfred repeated and poked Cedric in the side. Cloudia smirked. “Are you really Aunt Lou’s friend?”

“We are business partners – we work together,” Cedric told him.

“If you are a friend of Aunt Lou...” Alice started.

“... than you are our uncle,” Victoria Adelaide stated with a firm nod.

“Uncle Rapunzel!” Alfred squeaked with glee. He had large blue eyes which lit up the moment he spoke up.

“Uncle Rapunzel!” they all repeated, and started to laugh afterwards.

For the first time in a while, Cedric clearly did _not_ look amused. Cloudia’s smirk widened.

 _“See? My suggestions weren’t that bad,”_ said the gaze she presented him with. He, however, just scowled at her.

“Cloudia,” Queen Victoria said. “May I present you Princess Helena Augusta Victoria?” Her youngest daughter sat on her lap and looked up at Cloudia with big eyes. She had chubby cheeks and the same colouring like her parents and elder siblings. Helena looked like a puppet in her light green dress with the lisianthus pattern and her round baby-face.

“Say hello to your Aunt Lou and your Uncle Rapunzel, Lenchen,” Victoria said gently to her daughter, but Helena just clutched at her mother’s dress and pressed her little face against her chest.

Victoria chuckled. “I am sorry, Cloudia. She is still so small.”

“It is fine, Victoria,” Cloudia said and reached out to gently put one hand on Helena’s head. “I am Cloudia. Your siblings call me ‘Aunt Lou.’ Please promise me you won’t, okay, Princess Helena?”

The princess was too terrified to answer, so Cloudia took her hand away from her head. The other Royal children ate the cakes and biscuits with perfect table manners.

 

 

_Why wasn’t Cedric like that?_

 

 

“Belated happy birthday, Prince Alfred,” Cloudia said to the young prince after a while. “I am deeply sorry for not attending the party for your third birthday. Surely, it was great nevertheless.”

Alfred nodded. “It was! I got a wooden horse to ride.”

“Well, that is a fine present, isn’t it?”

“It is! Do you have a wooden horse, Aunt Lou?”

“Unfortunately, I do not,” Cloudia replied with a smile. “I never did, to be honest. But I do have an actual horse.”

The prince’s eyes widened. “Really? Is it big?”

She nodded. “It is _really_ big.”

“Does the horse have a name?” The little boy was absolutely excited.

“It does.” Cloudia’s smile widened. “It is ‘Falada.’ The horse is a _he_.”

“‘Falada’ like the horse in the fairy tale _The Goose Girl_?” Victoria Adelaide asked.

“Exactly, _Your Highness_.” The princess giggled again.

And while Cloudia talked with the Royal children and told them some stories, fairy tales and legends, Cedric secretly watched them while having a conversation with the Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's the end of the first arc! :D  
> Thank you so much for your reviews! And that you endured this story until now!  
> (And Bravenight: I use the manga as base.)  
> See you in arc two of "Watchog of the Queen"! :D


	11. The Lady, First Training

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, it’s here! The first chapter of the second arc of “Watchdog of the Queen”!

_“Even prodigies need training.”_

* * *

  _ **RISE OF THE WATCHDOG ARC**_

* * *

  _“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”_

\- Charles Dickens, _A Tale of Two Cities_

* * *

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ April 1836**

 

_Two years ago, Earl Simon Phantomhive had died ‒ changing our lives forever._

_On the day he had died, the Royal family and the whole country, the whole kingdom, lost a crucial member of their society: the monarch's Watchdog, who executed special tasks for the Royal family of the United Kingdom._

_Without him, the Watchdog who oversaw the Underworld and kept the light safe from the darkness, the order in the Underworld started to crumble. In the last two years, the crime rate had visibly increased ‒ and Scotland Yard was simply not enough to fight back the evil powers of the Underworld._

_However, nobody knew about this face of Earl Simon Phantomhive. For the nobility he had once belonged to, he had been just a friendly, but slightly strange Earl of a renowned noble family._

_Nobody knew about the fact that Earl Simon Phantomhive had risked his own life to protect the kingdom – that he had_ died _while protecting it._

_For the public, a story had been created: In 1834, Simon Phantomhive had gone hunting. However, his horse had been suddenly startled by another animal, and unhorsed Simon. Right after falling to the ground, some wild animal had attacked, and ultimately killed him. Due to the suddenness of the attack and the lack of weapons, Simon had not been able to defend himself._

_Only the Royal family, some of their trusted advisers and servants, the Police Commissioner of Scotland Yard, my mother, my mother's family, our own servants, the last Aristocrats of Evil and me knew about the true nature of Simon Phantomhive and his death._

_That he had lived for the kingdom – and he had died for the kingdom._

 

_The duty of the Watchdog had been passed down to the head of the Phantomhive family for centuries. But only males could inherit. And Simon Phantomhive had died without leaving a male heir behind._

_He had left behind a heartbroken, grief-stricken widow who refused to leave her chambers ever since his funeral._

_And he had left behind a child – a female child, a child who could never inherit any title or any duty._

_But then, the Phantomhive family had always been special._

 

_The Phantomhives worked directly under the monarch and reigned over the Underworld. With Simon gone and only a_ female _Phantomhive left, the advisers of King William IV had advised him to appoint a new family as the “Watchdog family.”_

_But to everyone's surprise, King William IV had persisted to leave the Watchdog duty to the Phantomhive family, making_ me _the next one to become the Watchdog._

_Me, Cloudia Phantomhive, the last Phantomhive left._

_Me, Cloudia Phantomhive, who would someday become the very first female Watchdog in the long history of the kingdom._

 

_Of course, the advisers weren't pleased with His Majesty's decision, but a king's decision was final, and they had no possibility to overthrow it. Therefore, the best teachers of the country were sent to the Phantomhive Manor to teach me, and prepare me for my future position as the Watchdog._

_The Watchdogs before me had enjoyed a magnificent education – but they had never been besieged with teachers, or governesses, or maids, or tailors, or whatever annoying people walked around in the mansion like they owned it. But then, I was an exception. But I wasn't only an exception. I was some special kind of exception, because I only became one_ due to my gender _. Because I was_ a girl _._

_The King's advisers were quite anxious about my capability as the future Watchdog, so they kept sending all these people._ Because I was a girl.

_Bloody Zounderkites._

 

 

_It was two o'clock and I should actually be in my specially “created” schoolroom‒ they had actually turned a unused room into a schoolroom by decorating it with horrible “school things” like dreadful posters saying “It always seems impossible until it is_ done _” – and listen to my governess, Agatha Bolton, telling me something which I had already taught myself._

_Naturally, I had bunked it off, and was now hiding in a cupboard with a candle to read in the dark. Since 1833, a great man named Charles Dickens published a story in various newspapers. One day, I had come across it ‒ and collected all newspapers containing the story_ Sketches by “Boz,” Illustrative of Every-day Life and Every-day People _. I loved Dickens' work and hoped, even_ prayed _although I wasn't religious, that he would never stop writing until taking his very last breath. And that I would get the opportunity to read all of his stories._

_I was halfway through_ The Tuggses at Ramsgate _, the latest of the sketches, when suddenly the cupboard's door flew open and I was roughly hurled out of my hiding place._

 

 

“We have searched the whole mansion for you, Young Lady!” Miss Agatha Bolton scolded her, her pale eyes shining furiously. Like always, she wore the dark costume of a governess, and her brown hair was kept in a tight bun. She was only eighteen, but possessed the aura of a fifty-year-old hag.

Cloudia Phantomhive's maid, Jonalyn Haynes, was standing right behind her. She was a jumpy young woman in her early twenties who was afraid of everything in the manor, whose greatest wish was to be thrown out in the foreseeable future. That Jonalyn knew about the Phantomhive family's secret, didn't make her any calmer.

“Jonalyn! Put out this candle before everything burns down! And hide these gruesome, old newspapers better this time!” Agatha yelled at Jonalyn, who flinched and bowed quickly.

“Yes, Madam!” she said, and did what she had been assigned to.

“And now back to you, Young Lady,” Agatha said, turning her attention back towards Cloudia. “You will never become a fine lady if you do not learn to behave yourself, Lady Phantomhive! Your inappropriate behaviour makes you absolutely unsuitable for the job of the Watchdog! Someday you will serve _the Royal family_ , Young Lady. Therefore, you need to learn how to listen to other people, and obey their orders like any other well-behaved girl.”

 

 

_I scowled at her ‒ or at least I did in my mind. I was of nobility, the heir to the Phantomhive family, and thus I could not let her notice that she was actually hitting a nerve with her words. I needed to remain stoic and calm like I had been taught in the last two years._

_No matter how angry I got in the inside, I could not let it get to the outside ‒ I needed to keep my composure, otherwise she would memorise what could upset, what could hurt me and use this information deliberately against me._

_Showing even the faintest bit of weakness was the worst thing I could ever do, I had been taught._

_And so, I tried to obey this rule as best as I could. Or at least, when I was facing Agatha or any other shady, unpleasant or evil person._

 

_Agatha Bolton was a miserable woman ‒ I had checked her background just after my sixth birthday two weeks ago. She had been born to middle-class parents who had been incredibly happy when someone had come to them, and told them that their daughter could attend their school for free. Without Agatha, they only had to think about feeding themselves. Joyfully, they had agreed to send Agatha to this free school, where she would spend the rest of her life ‒ and her parents were just relieved that her brick of a daughter was now gone. They didn't even visit her once after she had started school._

_Even in school, nobody had liked Agatha. Even the teachers and the director had been thankful when she graduated, and left to be a governess and annoy little children. At least she wouldn't annoy_ them _anymore._

_They were so lucky._

 

 

“I spent a lot of time in the library,” Cloudia Phantomhive said with a very collected and very calm voice. She stood in front of her governess with a straight back, and looked directly into Agatha's evil, pale eyes. And her body shook only a tiny little bit while doing so. “My father, the last Earl of Phantomhive, taught me how to read when I was just three years old. I do not only read novels, but also nonfictional books ‒ _schoolbooks_ if you want to call them that. Most of the things you want to teach me, Miss Bolton, I have already taught myself by reading these books in the manor's library. We have a very large library. Even universities envy us for it.

“I have told you these words many times now, Miss Bolton: I would attend your classes if you could really _teach_ me something entirely new. Instead, you insist on letting me read novels for _toddlers_. _Picture books for little, toothless babies_. With my father dead, and my mother locked up in her own room, _I_ am the head of this household. I could throw you out in the blink of an eye, Miss Bolton. I hope that, this time, my words will finally be able to reach you, and may the slow brain of yours process them properly.”

Agatha narrowed her eyes at Cloudia. “We will speak about this later, Young Lady,” the governess said bitterly, almost hissed the words. “But due to your actions, we already wasted too much time.”

Cloudia frowned. “I already told you that I will not enter the classroom until you agree to teach me something new, Miss Bolton. I told you this _only a few seconds ago_.”

“You always say that you are an intelligent girl. If you truly are one, Lady Phantomhive, should you not have figured out by now, that I am not speaking about my classes?” Agatha countered.

“You are not supposed to speak to me like that, Miss Bolton,” Cloudia said, her voice trembling a little bit even though she had tried so hard to sound as calm and collected as she had before.

Ignoring her words, Agatha took her by the arm, and dragged her angrily out of the room. “Our guest has waited for you for over half an hour now. Fortunately, he possesses a large amount of patience, and was so kind to wait in the Great Hall until we found you. Every other teacher, or every other _person_ , would have already left ‒ and gone to tell everybody what a _brat_ Earl Phantomhive's daughter is. So, for once, behave yourself, Young Lady, and greet our guest in a fine manner.”

 

 

New teacher? _I frowned. I already had so many different teachers ‒ why should I get a new one? And what should he teach me?_

_I wanted to ask Agatha all these questions, but she ignored me, and dragged me furiously down to the Great Hall._

_At happier times, when Simon Phantomhive had still been alive and his wife not locked up in her own room to mourn and mourn every day for his loss, he had thrown one or two parties a year in this hall. Not because he had wanted to, but because he had been obliged to by his noble status._

_Aside from these obligatory parties for the public, birthday parties, and other family feasts like Christmas had been held in the Great Hall. But now, the hall stood mostly empty. From time to time, however, I sneaked into it to hide myself in a corner, when Agatha wanted me to learn the alphabet ‒ something my dead father taught me years ago._

_I nearly started to cry when I thought about him and the emptiness of the Great Hall ‒ what had once been a place of laughter, was now a place of sorrow._

_Two years ago, Earl Simon Phantomhive had died ‒ changing our lives forever, and taking all the happiness of the Phantomhive Manor with him. On some days, I only wanted to hide myself and sob and cry, and on others, I only wanted to tear open Mother's door and lock myself up there too._

_But I could not. I was the one who had been left behind. I was the one who had to go on living._

_And I had to do my best of it. For both of them._

_Thus, I held back my tears._

_But, sometimes, on the worst of days when grief got the best of me, I still cried all to myself ‒ when no one watched, hidden somewhere where nobody would look. Where nobody could judge me over it. Then, I cried over Father's death, over the fact that Mother withdrew herself from me, over all that had been lost._

_And over the fact that I was still not strong enough to face every day with a stoic, calm expression as if nothing had happened._

 

_Agatha let go of my arm when we finally arrived in front of the hall's gigantic door. She straightened her dress, and checked my hair and clothing. When Jonalyn ‒ who was done hiding my beloved newspapers – pushed open the door, and we entered the Great Hall, a smile appeared on Agatha's lips when she greeted a man who had been waiting in the Great Hall with Theodore Clifford – Father's former butler._

 

 

“I am terribly sorry for the delay,” Agatha said to the man, who approached her and Cloudia, and curtsied in front of him. Clifford followed him discreetly, and Jonalyn stood in front of the closed door, trying not to look too distressed.

The man, the guest who would apparently become one of Cloudia's teachers, was very tall with combed back brown hair, and shining light green eyes. He didn't look scary or unfriendly – but that did not mean that he looked particularly pleasant. Besides, he looked somehow... _familiar_ , but Cloudia wasn't able to classify this strange familiar feeling properly.

The man's mustache moved slightly when a smirk sneaked on his lips. “No need to apologise, dear governess...”

“Miss Agatha Bolton,” Agatha told him, but he ignored her interjection and continued talking – something which highly amused Cloudia.

“... but I am fairly aware of the nature of a Phantomhive. I am grateful that you and the other servants managed to find her, and bring her here, but may you be so kind and leave the two of us alone now?”

“I do not think...,” Agatha begun, but the man harshly cut her off. His pale green eyes glared at her.

“I said: May you be so kind and leave the two of us alone now, governess?” he said with impressive insistence. Cloudia blinked up at the man who had not introduced himself to her yet.

Agatha pressed her lips together, and quickly walked out of the hall, followed by a frightened Jonalyn, without saying another word. Clifford bowed in front of Cloudia, and the look on his face told her that she did not have to be afraid of their guest. Then, the old butler left too, leaving Cloudia all alone with their guest in the Great Hall.

The man turned towards Cloudia and smirked. “Skipped classes and hid somewhere in this huge manor, didn't you, missy?”

He patted her head lovingly. “You have grown quite a lot – and you look more and more like your mother. Did anybody tell you that, missy?”

Cloudia glared up at him. “I am sorry, but shouldn't people introduce themselves first before starting a conversation?”

The man blinked at her in surprise, but then, he laughed loudly. “I am sorry, Little One! You were so little when we last met, but I still thought that you would be able to recognise me.” He grinned widely. “I am Sir Barrington Weaselton, the former Head of the Order of the British Empire.”

Cloudia's eyes widened, realisation coming over her. “You were a friend of my father – _Barry_.”

Sir Barrington Weaselton laughed. “Only Simon was allowed to call me that.” He smiled. “I am glad that you remembered me after all, little Dia.”

Upon hearing her old nickname, Cloudia scowled at him, and Barrington patted her head with a chuckle. “Grumpy as always, aren't you, Dee?” He pointed to a laid table with two chairs surrounding it. “Old Ted was so kind to prepare some tea and sweets for us.” Barrington offered her his arm. “May I escort you, Lady Phantomhive?”

 

 

“Tell me, little Dia, how were you doing after Simon's funeral? We last met there, but we did not speak. Penelope held your hand all the time and secured that nobody would approach you.”

Barrington and Cloudia were sitting around the table, but none of them touched the tea or the lovely little cakes Clifford had prepared.

“Mother locked herself up in her chambers, and I only got to see her around five to ten times in the last two years,” Cloudia answered him, trying not to sound too bitterly. “King William IV sent me a million teachers and trainers to prepare me for my duty as the Watchdog. I left the manor only twice after Father's death. I only left it because my cousin Constantia wanted me to accompany her and her parents to some trips. One to Brighton, and one to Edinburgh.”

“So you are... more or less imprisoned in here, right?” Barrington asked with a serious look on his face.

“To be honest – yes, I am. Agatha, my governess, is horrible, and so are my other teachers. They restrict me in everything. In the food I eat, in the clothes I wear... where I am and who I meet. I celebrated my last two birthdays only with Clifford in my own rooms. They didn't allow my aunts to come with their husbands and children. They say that I ‘need to stay focused.’” Cloudia looked down on her lap, clenching her fists and telling herself in her mind not to cry. “They may be afraid of me, _a girl_ , becoming the next Watchdog, but that doesn't mean that they can restrict me in everything, and trap me in my own mansion.”

“I am sorry, Dia,” Barrington said, and she knew that he truly meant it. “But everything will change when you become the Watchdog after turning sixteen.”

“That is _ten years away_ , Sir Weaselton,” Cloudia replied with a scowl. “I don't know if I can survive ten more years like that. I don't know if I can keep my sanity with Agatha and the others around.”

“Just call me ‘Barrington.’ You do not need to be so formal with me.”

Cloudia lifted her head and her face suddenly beamed up, a mischievous grin appearing on her lips. “Unless Agatha is in the same room.”

The former knight laughed. “Unless Agatha is in the same room,” he agreed with a smile. “Even though I am not happy about your current situation, I am glad that they still didn't manage to break you. Keep fighting, little Dia. You are a Phantomhive. And Phantomhives fight until the very end.”

He patted her head over the table. “And you are as much of a fighter as your father and your predecessors were. You will endure it, Dia. I have hope.” He winked at her. “And if you need any help, you can always come to me.”

Cloudia smiled. “Thank you, Barrington.”

“‘ _Uncle Barrington_ ’ for old time's sake, please.”

“I am afraid, but I cannot remember ever calling you that,” she replied, and he laughed. “But I remember something else... weren't you still a knight and Head of the Order of the British Empire the last time we met? Two years ago?”

Suddenly, Barrington's gaze turned cold and hard. “That I am not a knight anymore,” he said slowly with a deep, terrifying voice. “is nothing you need to bother yourself with, Cloudia.”

She stared at him; and even though she wanted to know why he wasn't a knight anymore; even though she wanted her curiosity to take over and just _ask_ , she remained silent.

 

 

_There was something wrong. Barrington could have resigned ‒ or been thrown out. Forced to leave his position as the Head of the Order of the British Empire._

_But whatever it was ‒ he didn't like speaking about it. He didn't want me to know about it._

 

_But I would_ definitely _find it out someday._

 

 

“I want to ask you one more thing,” Cloudia started. “What was your reason to visit me today? You didn't come to the Phantomhive Manor in nearly two years after all.”

Barrington leaned back. “Well, little Dia, there is indeed a reason. May I ask you how much you know about Simon's will?”

She frowned as she hadn't expected him to ask such a question. “Well... I haven't read it until now. They won't allow me to read it until I officially succeed Father as the Watchdog. But I can guess that I will inherit everything when I reach a certain age. I was and still am his only blood-relative after all.”

“These bloodsuckers,” Barrington swore. “You cannot even read your own father's will. King William IV should try to oversee the actions of his advisers. But you are lucky, Dia ‒ you do not have to wait until you're sixteen to get a sneak peek of Si's will!” He smiled brightly. “I cannot tell you everything, but I am allowed to tell you about a certain part of his will.”

“ _You_ have read Father's will?” Cloudia asked, utterly surprised. “Aunt Eleanor said that Father always kept his will a secret. That not even Mother knows the exact wording of it.”

Barrington chuckled. “Well, missy, your father _entrusted_ me with his will. Good old Simon also instructed me to read some special extract of it ‒ parts of his will which he had copied on an extra sheet of paper – if he passed away. I read this extract two years ago after his funeral. The real will ‒ the whole, complete thing – is still sealed away in a fine envelope. I gave the extract to the King, but Simon's whole will is still in my possession.”

Her eyes widened. “Then you could...”

“I know what you want to say, Dia,” Barrington interrupted her. “But I cannot do that. The King would let me be hanged if he found out that I have given you Simon's will before the fixed date. Your father would also hate me for it. I should look after you and your mother after all. And I cannot do that when I reside under the ground.

“And please don't sulk, missy. You ruin your lovely appearance.”

“I am _not_ sulking,” she insisted.

He nodded. “Yes, you are, Dee. But nevertheless ‒ let us speak now about the aspect of Si's will which I _can_ tell you.

“Your father was eighteen years old when he became the Earl of Phantomhive, and thus the Watchdog. However, I met him many years before that: When we were both twelve years old, we met in a tournament we both took part in. It was a fencing tournament ‒ and it is quite embarrassing to admit it as the former Head of the Order of the British Empire, but Simon actually beat me during that tournament. We faced each other in the finale, and he won very easily. Your father was a very good swordsman, Dia.”

“And why _exactly_ are you telling me this, Barrington? Didn't you want to speak to me about Father's will? Not about his fencing talent?”

“You are right, Dia, but I just wanted to tell you it as an introduction. Also... did you even know about this talent of your father?”

Cloudia shook her head. “I never saw him train when I was still little. Besides, no one informed me about this ability of his.”

Barrington ran one finger over the rim of a cup on the table. “So, I guess, you aren't even aware of the Phantomhive family tradition that every member has to learn how to use a sword?”

She shook her head again.

“Just as I thought.” He left the cup alone and continued talking. “There have never been many females in the Phantomhive family, because Phantomhives mostly didn't have any other children after having a son who could continue the line. This is something your father told me, Dia. Simon, for example, was also an only child. His father, your grandfather, Percival Phantomhive, died at age 52, making your father the Earl with eighteen. Percival and his wife could have had more children after Simon. However, they decided against it like many other Phantomhives before them. Your great-grandfather, Octavius Phantomhive, however, had _four_ children. Three boys and one girl. Percival was actually the youngest out of Octavius' children, but his two older brothers died in a carriage accident, making Percival the heir. Percival's sister, Baroness Abigail Stafford, born Phantomhive, was the first female Phantomhive after quite a lot of generations.”

“Barrington,” Cloudia interrupted him. “ _We were talking about the will_.”

“Don't be so impatient, Dia! I have a reason why I am telling you all these things, so please be patient and let me continue! Where did I stop? Oh, right, Abigail Stafford.

“According to an old family tradition, every member of the Phantomhive family is supposed to start learning how to fence after turning six years old. However, the tradition isn't restrained to the _male_ family members. After all, the tradition says that ‘every member’ should start their sword training at age six. And not ‘every male member.’ Therefore, Abigail became the first female Phantomhive to follow this tradition after a few generations.

“Simon changed his will millions of times. He always burned his old ones, and wrote a new one when he had to investigate a particularly difficult or deadly case. After your birth, Dia, Simon rewrote his will almost every month. But one aspect never changed: That you, his first and only daughter, would be to follow the tradition I told you about after turning six. No matter if Penelope or anybody else isn't pleased about it. Simon specially emphasized this part of his will.”

 

 

_My life had become grey and boring after my father's death, with annoying teachers and advisers leading it._

_But for the first time in forever, I had the change to enlighten my life._

 

_Even though it took me a few seconds to realise it._

 

 

Cloudia's eyes widened. “You are going to teach me fencing!” She almost jumped up from her chair and danced joyfully through the Great Hall, but she resisted this childish temptation, and just kept sitting on her chair and staring at Barrington in sheer happiness.

He laughed and nodded. “Exactly, missy.”

“When can we start?” she asked, her eyes shining.

“We can start right now, if you want.”

For the first time in two years, Cloudia gave an absolutely enthusiastic answer.

“I would _love_ to!”

 

 

“I was trained in various combat sports,” Barrington told her, while taking one of the little cakes and starting to eat them with fine manners.

 

 

_After I had asked Barrington if he could give me a sabre or a foil, so we could start, he had just laughed._

_Apparently, we didn't start with the_ practical _part of my training today._

_I was quite disappointed._

 

 

“I am adept in fencing, baritsu and some other combat sports. I was also trained in various stick-fighting styles like quarterstaff, singlestick, and foreign styles like the Japanese Bōjutsu. I travelled to many countries to learn other martial arts. Therefore, I also have knowledge of Pencak Silat, Kendo, Jujutsu and Arnis. But we will focus on fencing. ”

“Can you show me these martial arts too?” Cloudia asked with shining eyes. Barrington laughed.

“Perhaps if you're older,” he answered her. “But I won't promise anything. Learning martial arts is tough. If you learn fencing, you will have more knowledge to protect yourself than other girls and women in this day and age anyway, Dia.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I want to learn more, though,” she insisted. “I can't just learn how to use a sword. Someday, I will surely have to face an opponent without a sword nearby.”

Barrington smiled at her. “You're so grumpy,” he said. “So grumpy and stubborn. You're definitely Simon's and Penelope's daughter.” He finished eating his cake and straightened his back. “Surely you will, but I still won't teach you anything else than fencing for now. Besides, after teaching you how to fence, I have to teach you something else.”

Cloudia frowned. “What?”

“I will only answer if you form a proper sentence, Young Lady.”

She scowled at him. “What will you teach me after fencing?”

He leaned back. “If you ever manage to become a master in fencing, I will have to teach you how to use handguns. If you were the daughter of anybody else, it would sound strange, but your father insisted on it. It was also part of his will.”

Cloudia's eyes widened. “Handguns? You will show me how to use guns?” Her face beamed up in excitement.

He laughed at her behaviour. “It's good to see you so lively. But let us speak about fencing now, Dia.

“Let us start with basic information: Fencing originated in Spain. Many books were written there for fencing, for example _Treatise on Arms_ by Diego de Valera, a Spanish writer and historian who lived from 1412 to 1488. He wrote _Treatise on Arms_ between 1458 and 1471, and it is one of the first known books on fencing...”

 

 

_Barrington kept telling me a lot about the history of fencing, and never in my life I had such an interesting lesson. Agatha should have been here and learned from Barrington how to teach properly. But then, she would probably make a fuss about “how a young lady shouldn't learn things like fencing.”_

_And before I realised it, it already became late._

 

 

Barrington emptied his cup of tea. “It has gotten late, little Dia. Probably we should stop now and prepare ourselves for dinner.”

“But can't you tell me a little bit more?” Cloudia plead. “It's not that late, and if dinner was already ready or at least would be soon, Clifford would have come and told us it by now.”

He chuckled. “I cannot remember having ever seen you so energetic, Dia.”

“You would also suddenly turn into an energetic person after having the first decent lesson after years of ‘learning’ with Agatha Bolton,” Cloudia replied.

He nodded firmly. “I'm sure, you're right. But it's still late, so I cannot tell you much anymore.”

“I just want a _bit_! A tiny little fragment!”

Barrington shook his head. “You need to go out more often, Dia. Not even Si would have recognised you if he had seen you behaving like this.”

“Please, Barrington!”

“Okay, okay, Little One. How about I tell you about the basic rules of fencing? Oh, no. Please, Dia, don't start sparkling. It hurts my eyes.”

Cloudia glared at him. “I am _not_ sparkling!”

“You are, Dia. Denying is useless.” He smiled at her. “Fencers have to salute to each other at the beginning and the end of the bout. If you don't do it, you will either lose points or even be suspended. You receive points by hitting your opponent with the specific requirements for the type of weapon you use. If you use a foil, strikes outside the target area stop the contest before resuming anew, but strikes with the blade don't stop the action. The rule with the blade also applies when using an épée. And if you barge your opponent, use your hand to cover the target zone or use your feet, you will receive a penalty, thus you will lose points.”

Barrington stood up and offered Cloudia his hand. “Now come, little Dia. We need to change for dinner.”

 

 

_In the following weeks, Barrington came to the manor every single day. In the forenoons, I read through the books in the library while running away from Agatha, and in the afternoons, I listened to Barrington's fencing lessons. April came to an end, and he still hadn't taught me anything practical yet. This changed when May came._

_For the next months, Barrington taught me how to actually fence. He explained the moves to me, how I had to stand, how I had to hold the foil, the sabre or the épée. Besides, he showed me various techniques._

_In the last two years, I had been permanently bored, but with Barrington teaching me how to fence, I didn't feel bored anymore. Every day, I looked forward to these lessons. At the beginning, I only did dry practice or “fought” with a tailor's dummy. But when July came, Barrington decided that it was time for me to fight actual opponents and leave the tailor's dummies alone. I dressed up as a boy every time Barrington took me to a fencing school, so I could practice with boys my age. It had been his suggestion as he feared that the boys could not take me seriously if I went there in my usual clothing, or could even let me win because they didn't want to “hurt a fragile, little girl.”_

_It didn't take long until I beat all boys in this fencing school who were also six years old. Then, Barrington let me fight with older boys ‒ and to my own surprise, I managed to win against them every single time. I loved seeing their shocked or distressed faces after they had lost against someone who was younger than them, and I imagined how their faces would look like if they knew that they weren't only beaten by a little child, but by a little_ girl _. I often had to fight the urge to reveal myself as a girl after winning._

_The months passed, and my fighting style became better and better. I won faster and more easily. And in the end, no one wanted to fight with me anymore. These Fopdoodles ‒ they all started to look so broken and angry. I wondered if they exploded would they get to know that I was actually a girl. I didn't know about the explosion, but I was quite certain that they either would start crying like the little Scobberlotchers they were, or shatter into a million thousand pieces._

_This thought amused me quite a lot._

_Barrington wasn't a little bit surprised how fast I had learned to fence properly, as he kept saying that my father had seemingly passed down his talent to me. He told the King's advisers about my talent in fencing ‒ something I was very happy about. They always treated me like a useless, little girl who would only be good as a wife and mother. But now, they remained at least a little bit silent about this topic as I was apparently not as useless as they thought I was. I couldn't remember the last time I had been as happy as I was now._

_Thanks to Barrington, my life had started to turn bright again._

_And thanks to my talent, I was now called a genius, a prodigy ‒ and I really liked the sound of it._

_Besides, Barrington didn't only teach me fencing, but also took me out to London or somewhere else. I wasn't trapped in the manor anymore with him looking after me. For the first time in two years, I was free again._

_And I hoped that my little freedom would last forever._

 


	12. The Lady, Invited

_“For special circumstances, even people who locked themselves up return to the world.”_

* * *

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ February 1840**

 

 

_With a bright grin, I entered the Phantomhive Manor after returning from a fencing tournament with Barrington._

_Almost four years ago, Barrington had come to the manor and told me about a special aspect in Father's will ‒ the aspect which said that I had to learn fencing at the age of six. Ever since that day, my life, which had become dull and miserable after Father's funeral, had turned enjoyable again. Besides, Barrington had also started taking me to fencing schools or tournaments, so I could gain practical skills, after teaching me the basics. In the disguise of a boy, I fenced against boys my age and older. It made me happy to fence ‒ and it made me happy to win._

_Today, I had also won. The “mysterious ward of Sir Barrington Weaselton” had appeared again, only to smash the hopes and dreams of some boys._

_I nearly danced through the entrance door and hugged every passing servant, but I was a Lady, so I behaved myself and just smiled joyfully._

 

 

“Welcome back, Young Lady,” Theodore Clifford greeted Cloudia and Barrington. Once, he had been the butler of Simon Phantomhive, but after the death of his master, he had begun to serve his only daughter. Clifford was quite old ‒ fifty-five years old to be exact ‒ and his once light brown hair had already completed its change to grey. His body slowly became weary, and the sudden death of his master and friend had seemingly accelerated this process.

Cloudia had always liked Clifford. As a little child, she had already been very fond of him. But after Simon's death and the fact that Penelope, Cloudia's mother, had locked herself up in her chambers after his funeral, their relationship had deepened as Cloudia had suddenly been all alone in the gigantic manor. In the years between Simon's funeral and her first fencing lesson, Cloudia only had Clifford as company. Clifford had been the one who had cared for her while she had been trapped in her own home, and advisers and teachers had done their best to make her life horrible. Her cousins and the rest of her family had been banned from the manor ‒ and they still were. And she could only see them after sending a request to the Royal family first.

During these years, Clifford had always been there for her. No matter if she couldn't sleep, or if she was feeling ill, of if she skipped Agatha's classes again, he had always been by her side.

And for everything he had done for her, even though he was also still grieving, Cloudia would love Clifford forever. Would always be grateful for it.

Cloudia curtsied in front of Clifford. She didn't curtsy in front of any other servant, she didn't even do it in front of Barrington, but Clifford was special, thus he received a special treatment. “Good afternoon, Clifford! I won the tournament again!” With a grin, she showed him her little trophy.

Clifford laughed. “We should consider moving all your prices to a different room, Young Lady.”

Her grin widened. “I guess so?” Cloudia handed the trophy to a nervous Jonalyn, her maid, and told her to carefully place it alongside the others. Nodding, Jonalyn left the entrance hall.

“I suggest building a shack in the garden,” Barrington said with a smile. “A room won't be enough after all.” He patted Cloudia's head.

She chuckled. “Very well. If the cupboard where I store my prices collapses one day, you will single-handedly build a shack in the manor's garden, Barrington. Everyone who agrees says ‘Aye.’” Then, Cloudia said “Aye” as loudly as she could. “As I am the landlady, my word counts as at least ten in the Phantomhive Manor, therefore, you're overruled and have to build this shack, Barrington.”

The former knight laughed and she grinned while heading towards the stairs. “I will go and change now. I think you should do it too, Barrington. Clifford? What was prepared for dinner? No, I changed my mind. Don't tell me it. I want to be surprised.” Cloudia was about to go upstairs and into her room when Clifford spoke up.

“Before you go to your private chambers, Young Lady,” Clifford said. “I want to give you something.”

She turned around and frowned at the old butler. “What do you want to give me, Clifford?”

He walked to her and handed her a letter, which he had taken from an inner pocket of his tailcoat. Before Cloudia could take it, Barrington flinched, making her turn her attention towards him. “What's the matter, Barrington?” she asked curiously.

He stared at the letter. “No way,” he mumbled and looked at Clifford. “She's still too young. What are they thinking?” He clenched his fists.

“What's wrong?” Cloudia couldn't understand his behaviour.

“I am certain that this isn't the content of the letter,” Clifford replied calmly.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Don't ignore me! What are you talking about?”

“You shouldn't yell, Dia. That's improper for ladies,” Barrington said, and she scowled. “I wouldn't have yelled if you hadn't ignored me, Barrington. Now tell me. What's the matter with the letter?”

 

 

_Did I just rhyme? Never-mind._

 

 

“It's a letter from the Royal family,” Barrington explained, pointing at the wax seal. “I'm sorry for losing my composure, but your father got at least a million of these in his life. And ultimately, they were the reason why he died.” He pressed his lips together and she blinked at him.

“But I am not even the Watchdog yet,” Cloudia said. “I have six years left before I become it. So, why should they write me a letter containing a task? That doesn't make any sense.”

He inhaled deeply. “I was just being paranoiac. I am sorry, Dia.”

She frowned at him and took the letter from Clifford. “Does someone have a paper knife by chance?”

Clifford took one out of one of his tailcoat pockets and handed it to her. “Thanks,” she said, and opened the envelope. Cloudia took out the letter and read it quickly.

“What does it say?” Barrington wanted to know.

“It says that I am invited to Queen Victoria's wedding to Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha,” Cloudia told him.

 

 

_I couldn't believe it! I had received an invitation from the Queen! And I wasn't even the Watchdog yet!_

_My father had been the Watchdog of King George IV until his death in June 1830. After King George's death, he had become the Watchdog of King William IV. When Father had died in 1834, King William IV hadn't have a Watchdog anymore until he had passed away in June 1837. Only having illegitimate children from his relationship with the actress, Dorothea Jordan, ‒ with his wife, William had had five children, but three of them had been stillborn and the other two had died shortly after their birth –, the King's niece, Princess Alexandrina Victoria of Kent, daughter of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent and Strathearn and Princess Victoria of Saxe-Coburg-Saalfeld, had succeeded him as ruler of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland._

_King William IV had many, many children with Dorothea Jordan – ten to be exact – even before his marriage to Princess Adelaide of Saxe-Meiningen whom he had married on July 11, 1818 in a double wedding with Prince Edward and Princess Victoria – the parents of Queen Victoria. William and Adelaide had met on July 4, 1818 for the first time, and William had been twenty-seven years older than Adelaide. Poor, poor Adelaide was such a kind woman, and beloved by the British people for her modesty and charity. This made the fact that she had lost all her five children even worse. Also, Adelaide loved Queen Victoria like a daughter, and wanted to be closer to her, but Victoria's mother didn't allow Adelaide to interact with her daughter, and basically separated them._

_Besides, while having had relationships with many women with whom he had a lot of children, William never had had mistresses while being married to Adelaide. He had loved her, and she had loved him. They had a very happy marriage which had lasted for nearly twenty years._

_The lovely Adelaide, who had even enthusiastically welcomed William's children from his various affairs, never had any surviving children by herself – and probably would never have. Her story was such a sad one._

_Why could Dorothea Jordan, a woman who had seemingly had an affair with everything moving, have more children than she could even count, while Adelaide, a lovely, kind-hearted person, could not even have one?_

_Around a year ago, I had done a bit of research after Barrington had forbidden me to look into King William's background. Probably, he hadn't wanted me to find out anything about the “bastard children,” but in the end, he had failed horribly._

_Whatever... Queen Victoria had proposed to Prince Albert on October 15, 1839, and they were to be married on February 10, 1840. And_ I _was invited!_ Me _! Lady Cloudia Phantomhive!_

_During dinner, I was too excited to start a conversation with Barrington. The wedding would be the very first time for me to get in touch with the Royal family. The wedding was ten days away, but I already knew that this day would a very special one – not only for the bride and groom, or the kingdom, but for me too._

_On that day, me, little Cloudia Phantomhive, the unwanted female Watchdog, could finally present herself in all her dignity in front of the royalty and the Queen's advisers. They knew about my fencing talent, but they still weren't convinced that I could handle the duty as the Watchdog._

_But at Victoria's wedding, I would finally be able to prove them wrong._

 

 

The following day, Cloudia had been freed from Agatha's lessons as a tailor would come to measure her. Also, many other preparations had to be done before Cloudia could attend Queen Victoria's wedding in nine days. For example, her manners were perfect, flawless – but still not enough for court. In nine days, Cloudia had to maximize her good characteristics.

Yesterday, Cloudia had sent an answer to the Queen in which she had said that she was honoured to be invited to her wedding, and would happily attend the festivities. Besides, she had written to her aunt Eleanor, telling her about the invitation and asking her to be her escort. The invitation had said that Cloudia could come with someone – as long as this person was part of her family. Barrington had grumpily told Cloudia that this addition only existed to prevent him to accompany her. Eleanor's letter had arrived today morning, saying that she was willing to be her niece's escort.

For today, all Cloudia had to do was playing chess with Barrington in the parlour, and waiting for the dressmaker to come. She was just about to move her horse when Clifford suddenly entered the drawing room.

“Young Lady,” he said, heavily breathing. His face looked pale, and his appearance alarmed Cloudia.

“What's the matter, Clifford?” she asked, forgetting all about the chess game.

“The Mistress...,” Clifford began, and Cloudia jumped down from her chair. “What is with Mother?” Her heart in her chest started to race.

“The Mistress... she is...”

The old butler couldn't complete his sentence, because he was harshly interrupted.

“The Mistress is right here,” said Penelope Phantomhive, Countess of Phantomhive, from the doorsill.

 

 

_After Father's funeral, I had only seen Mother on very few occasions. Sometimes, I was called to her chambers once a month. Sometimes, many months passed before I was called again._

_Mother's presence was so faint in the manor that I sometimes caught myself thinking of me as an orphan – completely forgetting the fact that my mother was still alive._

_Father was almost six years dead now – and Mother had locked herself up for almost six years now, never going out, never walking through the manor._

_And now, after years of nearly complete isolation, Mother was standing in front of me again._

_All I could do, was staring at her._

 

 

Penelope Phantomhive wore the black clothes of a mourning widow. Her black dress was wonderful and plain, a hat graced her head, and a dark veil shadowed her face. An absolutely surprised and shocked Cloudia stared into a pair of large blue eyes behind the veil, which were the same as her own. Penelope's hair was blonde and kept in a tight bun, but her long cowlick, an untamable strand of hair, with the slight curl hanged in front of her face.

Dignified and with a straight back, Penelope stood in the doorsill and looked at her daughter. She didn't seem to notice Barrington. And for a moment ‒ for the faintest of seconds – Cloudia could have believed that Penelope had never locked herself up. That Penelope had been there for her in the last six years, instead of keeping herself aloof of her own daughter – her own flesh and blood.

Cloudia wanted to say something, but her tongue suddenly felt enormously heavy, and her mind wasn't able to find any fitting words. She just stood there – frozen. She didn't tremble. She didn't burst into tears. She didn't say anything. She just stared into her mother's eyes which didn't shine anymore.

“Didn't I teach you that a proper lady should never stare at anyone, Cloudia?” Penelope said, and almost, only almost, Cloudia had started to cry.

 

 

_This wasn't a hallucination._

_This wasn't some nasty joke._

_This was_ real _._

 

_I couldn't believe it._

 

 

Cloudia blinked and stepped back, nearly falling over her chair. “I am sorry, Mother,” she whispered, hoarsely. Her headaches returned and made her head be filled with pain.

 

 

_No. I wouldn't allow myself to succumb to my headaches._

 

 

Barrington stood up from his chair, walking towards Cloudia and steadying her, after seeing her pained expression. “Are you okay, Dia?” he asked with a gentle voice, and she nodded despite the fact that she started to see blurry.

He looked at her, this lips pressed together, before turning his gaze towards Penelope.

“Penny,” he said, taking a deep breath. “It is good to see you again. You are as lovely as always.”

Penelope scowled at him. “How often do I have to tell you that you are not allowed to call me ‘Penny’?”

Barrington grinned and helped Cloudia sit down on her chair. “I am sorry. Many things have happened in the last six years. I think I've grown old and forgetful.”

She looked at him with an annoyed expression. Before anyone could say anything, Clifford returned to the drawing room.

 

 

Strange _, I thought. I couldn't remember seeing him going out._

 

 

Clifford handed her a cup of hot milk and honey. “Here you are, Young Lady.” Cloudia took the cup in her slightly shaking hands and nodded.

 

 

_Bad, Cloudia, bad. If you weren't even able to control your attacks in your own home, how would you manage it during the festivities for the Queen's wedding?_

_There, I wouldn't get any hot milk with honey._

 

 

Cloudia took a sip and the hot, sweet milk ran down her throat. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply before opening them again and facing her mother with a firm expression.

“Mother,” she said, her voice calm and steady as if everything was okay, as if Penelope hadn't come out of her chambers for the first time in six years. “Why are you honouring us with your presence, dear Mother?”

Penelope gazed at her daughter for a few minutes before answering her question. “I've heard that you received an invitation to the Queen's wedding.”

Cloudia flinched.

 

 

_Control yourself, Cloudia! You shouldn't flinch!_

 

 

“What is so wrong about receiving an invitation from the Queen, Mother?” Cloudia asked, and quickly took another sip of the healing milk.

“Penelope,” Barrington chipped in. “She has already accepted it. You know that there is no way back anymore.”

“Then I will accompany her,” Penelope said without hesitation. Cloudia's eyes widened. “But I've already asked Aunt Eleanor if...”

“Eleanor is not your mother,” she interrupted, her eyes flashing up for a second. “ _I_ am. Thus, I have every right to accompany you.”

Penelope stepped through the doorsill and entered the hallway. “Many preparations have to be done until the wedding, Cloudia. We shouldn't waste any time.” With these words, she left.

 

 

_The nine days passed quite quickly. Barrington had put my fencing training on hold, so I had more time to optimize my manners. I reread every book I had about etiquette and manners. I practiced with Barrington and Clifford, even with Jonalyn, to have a friendly and light chat. I practiced with Barrington every important dance, and danced with him until our feet hurt. I walked around with a lot of books on my head to walk as straight as humanly possible. I learned to walk like a true noble lady, full of grace, elegance and dignity. I was taught to smile and be polite all the time, even though I was internally scowling. I practiced and practiced everything normal girls my age learned. From flower language to the right way to use a fan. I studied the guest list for the wedding and did some research on everyone. I memorised their faces, their names, their relations, so I could talk to them more easily._

_I would be the perfect lady. I would show everyone that I was worthy of my inheritance._

_And no one would stop me._

 

 

Jonalyn finished helping Cloudia into her dress. “The... the dress suits you very well, Young Lady,” the maid said, her voice shaky. Cloudia rolled her eyes, something which she couldn't do at the wedding festivities, and went to the large mirror to look at herself. She wore a dress of ivory-coloured linen and borders in red satin and black lace. Faint flower patterns were printed on the dress. It went just a bit over her knees and had a slightly far-reaching skirt which was supported by a crinoline.

The dress matched Cloudia's pale skin without letting it appear like there was no transition from the dress to her skin. This happened sometimes when she was trying out some dresses with a paler colour. However, this one prevented this to happen as it was a few shades darker than Cloudia's skin. Besides, her already pale skin didn't appear even paler in the dress ‒ something which also happened to her from time to time. After all, she was going to a wedding, and thus couldn't look like a ghost.

The black lace and the red satin harmonised perfectly with her dark hair and her blue eyes. The flowers which were printed on the dress were gardenias ‒ flowers which stood for purity and joy ‒ and lilies of the valley which symbolized happiness. It wasn't Cloudia's wedding, but wearing a dress with wedding flower patterns wasn't a taboo. Also, Cloudia had a preference for flower themes.

When she was done marveling at the beauty of her dress, Cloudia sat down on a chair, so Jonalyn could start coiffing her hair. Cloudia's black hair reached down to her buttocks, and most of the time, she wore it either down or in a simple braid or ponytail. If she fenced with others, she braided her hair into a wreath at the backside of her head, so it could fit underneath her mask.

Girls her age usually wore their hair down, or tried out fancier hairstyles to mirror grown-up women. However, if a girl turned fifteen or sixteen, she was obliged to wear her hair up, especially when they belonged to aristocracy or at least to the upper classes.

Jonalyn parted Cloudia's hair in the middle, before she curled her hair and neatly tied it back in a complex bun. Then, she curled the sides of Cloudia's hair and decorated her young lady's hair with light pink-coloured gladioli. When Jonalyn was done, Cloudia stood up and walked towards the mirror again.

 

 

_I was quite tall for my age. My grandmother wasn't very pleased about my height as girls should be small and petite, and not taller than other boys of the same age. But then, Grandmother Hortense was never pleased about me._

_With my height and my hair up, I looked older. I smiled at my reflection. This was just what I wanted._

 

 

There was a knock on the door.

“You may enter,” Cloudia said politely and turned towards the door. It was opened, and Barrington stepped inside.

“Dia, you look wonderful,” he said, approaching her with a soft smile on his lips. “Your father would have locked you away in the basement if he saw you like this, so no one could see you this beautiful and steal you away from him.”

Cloudia smirked. “He would have needed to tie me up, and let me be watched by some shady henchmen, if he had wanted me not to escape. If he had just locked me away in the basement, I would have easily escaped.”

Barrington laughed. “Miss Jonalyn,” he said, addressing the maid who flinched at his words. “Please be so kind and leave Lady Cloudia and me alone.” Jonalyn bowed hastily before quickly leaving the dressing room. When she was gone, Barrington put his arms around Cloudia and hugged her lightly, so her dress and hair-do wouldn't get damaged.

“Simon would be so proud of you,” he mumbled. Cloudia didn't say anything, just closed her eyes and returned the hug.

 

 

“I cannot await coming back, and finally being able to continue my fencing training,” Cloudia said to Barrington, while they were walking downstairs moments later.

“This absurdly girlish stuff I had to practice in the last days was just boring. I want to defeat little boys and see them cry.”

Barrington chuckled. “Dia, you _are_ a girl. Also, it's definitely not healthy to want to see the tears of innocent little boys.”

She glared up at him. “I thought that _you_ also cannot await continuing our fencing training. Then, you won't have to dance with me anymore after all.”

He sighed. “My feet still hurt from it. Next time, ask someone else if you want to practice dancing.”

“And whom? Clifford? He's fifty-five years old. I cannot let him be my dancing partner if even _you_ have problems keeping up with me.”

“Some other servant, for example? Or your cousin.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “And _which_ cousin?”

“The male one, of course. What was his name again? I forgot.”

“Keegan,” she answered him. “Keegan Morrow. And _no_ , I cannot ask him to dance with me. He's the worst dancer in the universe. He would shatter my feet like he has done it with the ones of other girls. It's quite the tragedy.”

“Perhaps I could persuade one of the boys of the fencing training school.”

Cloudia rolled with her eyes. “And what do you want to tell them? That your ‘ward’ is actually a pretty feminine boy? And only covers his face, so nobody would laugh at him for his feminine features? You can't be serious. _No boy_ would openly agree on training to dance with another boy. Also, if you said such a thing, nobody would take me seriously anymore. They wouldn't _fear_ me anymore.”

They put the conclusion of their conversation on hold when they arrived in the entrance hall where Clifford, Jonalyn and Agatha were waiting for them. Agatha looked like she wanted to hiss at Cloudia and tell her “not to ‘bugger everything up,’” but the governess pressed her lips together when she saw Barrington. A smile appeared on Cloudia's lips when she noticed this.

“Clifford, could you please tell me where my mother is?” Cloudia asked the old butler who bowed in front of her.

“The Mistress is waiting in the carriage,” he told her, and a thin smile sneaked onto his lips. “May I tell you that you look wonderful today, Young Lady?”

Cloudia giggled. “You're flattering me, Clifford!”

 

 

_If Barrington wasn't here, I would have never spoken with Clifford like this in front of Agatha, because she would have definitely punished me for it._

 

 

“Are you really sure that you don't even want to accompany me during the carriage ride?” Cloudia asked, turning towards Barrington.

“I am sorry, Dia,” he said, sounding sad. “The court people said that you could only bring along a relative because they didn't want me to come with you. They would probably put me into police custody or get me hanged if I still showed up. Even if I'm just sitting in a carriage and not going out.”

“I still cannot understand why they hate you so much,” Cloudia replied. “But we don't have time to talk about that now.”

Barrington carefully patted her head. “Even if I won't be with you, I know that you will do great. You will impress everyone and shine at least so bright as the Queen herself.”

Cloudia smiled at him. “Thank you, Barrington, for your kind words, and let us hope that they will become reality.”

Then, she headed towards the entrance door, Clifford following her. “Don't blow up the manor while I'm gone!” Cloudia waved at Barrington and her servants before Clifford and she left the manor's building. She could hear Barrington laughing behind her.

Because it was raining outside, Clifford held an umbrella over Cloudia and himself while leading her to the most beautiful carriage which was in possession of the Phantomhive family. It was a white carriage with the family crest engraved on the two doors, and the engraving was framed in gold. The rest of the carriage was engraved with gorgeous flower patterns, which had overjoyed Cloudia when seeing it for the first time. It had four wheels and a solid canopy top, and was drawn by two lovely white horses named Xanthos and Balios.

The carriage looked like stolen from a fairy tale, and Cloudia couldn't stop marveling at its stunning beauty. Most of the Phantomhive carriages were dark and plain, but when she found this one on accident a while ago, she had been utterly surprised. She had no clue where this strange carriage had come from, but if she had time, she would definitely try to find it out.

 

 

_Mysteries existed for the purpose to be solved, was my device._

 

 

Clifford helped Cloudia enter the carriage which had seats of gold satin and the softest cushions in the world. The curtains, which were currently covering the flawless windows of the carriage, also were golden, but the shade was significantly darker. Also, unlike the seats, the curtains possessed lovely embroidery and borders of fine white lace.

 

 

_Hopefully, it wasn't improper to drive to a wedding in such a pompous carriage. Especially, if the bride and the groom weren't the ones being driven in one._

_I had consulted Barrington, Clifford and all my servants and teachers except Agatha with this question, and everyone had told me that it wasn't improper. However, I still wasn't absolutely sure about it. And I hated not being absolutely sure about anything._

 

 

Cloudia with her ivory-coloured dress and her mature hair-do fit nicely together with the carriage, Penelope, however, didn't. Like always, she wore her mourning clothes and her face was hidden behind the dark veil. With a straight back, Penelope sat in the carriage and watched her daughter gracefully entering the carriage. When Cloudia was seated, Clifford closed the door and sat down next to the coachman who spurred Balios and Xanthos to start moving.

For almost six years, Cloudia hadn't been alone with her mother, therefore she felt uneasy now being stuck with her in the carriage for a few hours until they arrived at the Chapel Royal of St James's Palace in London.

 

 

_Don't behave like some Zounderkite, Cloudia! This was your mother, not Agatha or some stranger. Even though a stranger was certainly more pleasant than Agatha._

 

 

Cloudia took a deep breath before raising her voice. “Could you do me a favour, Mother?”

Penelope eyed her. “If it's a reasonable favour, I shall.”

“Then, if it doesn't bother you, may you be so kind and put at least the veil down for today? We are attending a wedding, and you already wore your mourning clothes for a much longer period than socially required. Besides, it's quite confusing to look at you with this veil over your face.” Cloudia gulped.

Penelope looked at her daughter for a very long time, and Cloudia was afraid that she had said something absolutely unutterable and hurt her mother's already broken feelings.

“I am sorry, Mother,” she quickly said. “I am sorry for asking such a thing of you. I am so sorry.”

Then, to Cloudia's complete surprise, Penelope shook her head. “No,” she said. “It's alright, Cloudia. For today, I shall put down my hat with the veil as your favour was fairly reasonable, and I would not be a true lady if I didn't keep my word.”

Penelope took off her hat and put it next to her on the golden seat. Finally, Cloudia could clearly see her mother's face. She almost looked like she remembered her ‒ extraordinarily fair with high cheekbones, flawless pale skin, big dark blue eyes and neatly coiffed blonde hair. But simultaneously, Penelope looked incredibly tired and exhausted, and her blue eyes now reflected sadness rather than liveliness. It broke Cloudia's heart to see her mother like this.

“Thank you, Mother. I greatly appreciate your kindness to accept my favour,” Cloudia said, tears glittering in her eyes.

 

 

_No, no, you couldn't cry right now, Cloudia! What would the people at the wedding think of you if you entered the church with red, swollen eyes?_

_Perhaps that you were a crybaby!_

 

 

“Cloudie,” Penelope said in the same soft voice, which she had used when Cloudia had still been little and the world had seemed brighter and lovelier than it seemed now.

 

 

_I really had to fight back the growing urge to burst into tears when Mother called me by my old nickname again._

_The nickname which I hadn't heard for almost six years now._

_The nickname_ he _had predominately used._

 

 

“Cloudie, dear, you shouldn't cry now. You cannot show weakness when meeting the Royal family,” Penelope told her daughter. “Especially if you are a Phantomhive.”

“‘And Phantomhives fight until the very end’,” Cloudia added. “Barrington told me that when my fencing lessons with him started.”

Her mother raised one of her eyebrows. “Well, did he? It's good that you remember these words, Cloudia. You should never forget them. The moment you stop fighting, it will be your downfall.”

Then, Penelope reached out to something behind her.

“I actually wanted to give you this on the day you are decorated and we switch titles,” she admitted, giving a little black box to Cloudia. “Because I wanted you to have it when you have to face the Queen for the first time. But now you are already meeting her in a few hours, so I give it to you now.”

Cloudia stared down at the little box. Her family crest had been printed on the box's lid in gold. She traced it with her index finger before looking up to her mother.

“Open it, Cloudia. You cannot spend the whole day staring at the box,” Penelope scolded her, and Cloudia carefully lifted the lid. Seated on a small blood red cushion was an oval-shaped locket made of gold and silver. The picture of a bird hovering over water lilies had been engraved on the locket's front.

“It's beautiful,” Cloudia whispered and took the locket out of the box, revealing the peach-coloured ribbon it was the pendant of. “Thank you very much, Mother.”

“I help you put it on,” Penelope said. “It will certainly fit with your dress.”

It was a bit difficult for Cloudia to turn around, so her mother could fix the necklace on the back of her neck, but in the end, they managed it.

 

 

_Somehow, my outfit finally felt like it's whole. And it certainly was._

 

 

“Thank you, Mother,” Cloudia said again. For the rest of the carriage drive, they didn't say anything anymore.

 

 

It wasn't easy to get to St James's Palace as a huge crowd had assembled in St James's Park which cheered very enthusiastically. The crowd didn't seem to mind that it was raining quite heavily.

 

 

 _For someone who rarely got outside, that were_ a lot _of people._

_And in a few minutes, the carriage would stop in front of St James's Palace. Mother and I would step out of the carriage and walk over the prepared red carpet to the Chapel Royal of the Palace._

_While the crowd waited, of course, for Queen Victoria and her groom, Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, they would definitely not miss to take at least_ a glimpse _of the guests. Well, actually, they would probably stare at them like they would stare at the bride and the groom. Or probably just not as intense._

_Fortunately, I had never been a shy girl._

 

_I straightened up when we almost reached St James's Palace._

 

 

The carriage stopped, and Clifford went to open the door. The crowd seemed to be bewitched by the beautiful white carriage. And the ones in the crowd, who recognised the family crest engraved on the two doors, looked confused as Phantomhives usually appeared in darker carriages.

Clifford helped Cloudia outside, and she made sure to look as dignified and mature as she could while being careful that she didn't slip or that her dress got stuck. A footman held an umbrella over Cloudia while Clifford helped Penelope getting out of the carriage.

The moment, the Countess of Phantomhive stood on the carpet, the crowd started to become even more restless.

 

 

_My mother may not be the Queen, but once she had been a very famous actress. She had primarily worked for the Royal Opera House, but had also enchanted people in various other theatres in Great Britain. After her marriage to Father, Mother had not stopped being an actress. She had only stopped after Father's death._

_The Opera House had been incredibly sad when Mother had quit her job. Barrington had told me that some people had said “that the world of theatres had lost a significant member” as if Mother had died._

_Surely, at least some people in the crowd were big fans of Mother, who had been shocked after finding out that she had ceased from acting. Probably, they were now silently fainting over the sight of my mother who hadn't showed herself to the public ‒ or more or less to anyone – in the last six years._

_Tomorrow, the newspapers would be full of articles regarding the wedding – but they would also be full of articles regarding the “Great Return of Penelope Phantomhive.” I was certain of it._

 

_But the fact that my mother was very famous, probably wasn't the only reason why people stared at her: Even if Mother hadn't been outside for six years now, she was still stunningly beautiful. And with her veil gone, nothing was there anymore to cover her breathtaking beauty. Barrington had told me that many men had run after Mother to marry her, but in the end, she had chosen Earl Simon Phantomhive – the plainest of all. If she hadn't started to lock herself up, Mother could probably not save herself from marriage proposals._

 

_Side by side, we walked into the Chapel Royal. Mother and daughter. Countess and Lady._

_When we entered the chapel, we silently greeted the other guests who eyed us in puzzlement. We didn't mind them and gracefully sat down on our seats in the last row._

 

_At eleven o'clock, when Queen Adelaide, wearing a dress of English lace with flounces over white satin, and a train of rich violet velvet, entered the chapel, all guests stood up as a mark of respect to the Queen Dowager. Adelaide herself curtsied before sitting to the right of the State Chair._

_One hour later, I could faintly hear the twenty-one gunshot Royal Salute as they were so loud that I could hear them even though it happened at Buckingham Palace. As I knew it, this was the signal that Queen Victoria had entered her carriage and was heading towards St James's Palace._

_And another hour and a half later, the Bridal Procession finally arrived at the Chapel Royal. Actually, it didn't take so much time to get from Buckingham Palace to St James's Palace, but probably they took extra long for the crowds?_

_I was informed about the whole procedure of the wedding, so I knew that Queen Victoria was now quickly heading to the Privvy Council Chambers where she would wait until her procession had been formed in front of the Throne._

_The first one of the procession to move towards the Throne was the groom ‒ Prince Albert of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha. He wore a red Field Marshal's uniform with two rows of golden buttons in front of his chest, and a black collar with a golden pattern on it. On the shoulders were large rosettes of white satin, and the ends of the uniform's sleeves also featured golden patterns, and a silver brooch had been pinned on his chest. Together with the red uniform, Prince Albert wore black trousers and a white cloth wound around his hip._

_When Prince Albert reached the altar and his seat, he went to the Queen Dowager, Queen Adelaide, first and kissed her hand before turning to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the other Church Dignitaries. Queen Adelaide told Prince Albert to take his seat on the left side of the altar which he did. While waiting for his bride to arrive, he talked with the Queen Dowager._

_And then, after a bit of time, the Queen, the bride, finally entered the church._

 

_I had always dreamed of marrying in white. Most women chose silver dresses for their weddings, but I had decided as a little child that white was to be the colour of my choice. And this hadn't changed until now, and it never would._

_So, when Queen Victoria arrived and was led to the altar by Prince Augustus Frederick, Duke of Sussex, one of her paternal uncles, I almost forgot how to breathe._

_The Queen's wedding dress was made of rich satin which was trimmed with orange blossoms. The dress' bodice had a low round neck, full sleeves and short gathered in at the elbows, and a sharply pointed waist. Also, the dress was covered in Honiton Lace ‒ Fun Fact: This Honition Lace had actually been manufactured in Beers, a village around sixteen kilometres away from Honiton – with a unique pattern on it, and as I had heard it, the pattern had been exclusively designed for Queen Victoria, but to me it looked like a bit of an imitation of an old design which I had seen somewhere before._

_Together with the dress, Victoria, of course, wore jewellery. One piece of jewellery which she wore today was an amulet with the motto of the Most Noble Order of the Garter on it: “Honi soit qui mai y pense” ‒ “Shame on him who thinks evil of it.” The Queen also wore the Star of the Order of the Garter, pinned to the left breast. Around her neck hung a necklace with Turkish diamonds, and on her ears shone beautiful earrings. Together with the Order's Star, a sapphire brooch was pinned on the bodice._

_Victoria's head was graced by an orange blossom flower wreath. Over it was a lovely veil made out of Honiton Lace which shadowed her face. The veil had the same design as the lace used for the dress, and was estimated five and a half metres long and had to be carried by a total of twelve bridesmaids._

_But the truly most stunning thing was that Victoria's dress was purely white ‒ just like I had dreamed_ my _dress would be._

 

_After Victoria had arrived by the altar, the Duke of Sussex gave her away to Prince Albert who led his bride to the right-hand-side of the altar. And after the Archbishop of Canterbury had moved towards the altar rails, the actual wedding ceremony finally began._

_Once it was finished, the wedding guests, Mother and me included, took our original positions in the procession and left the church. Now, it was time to return to Buckingham Palace for the Wedding Breakfast._

_While going outside, my heart was beating loudly in my chest, and I was afraid that somebody could hear it._

_The church, the procession, the ceremony, the dress... everything had been so, so wonderful. Like taken right out of a fairy tale. And the beauty of this day almost let the people forget about the everlasting rain over London._

 

 

The people at Queen Victoria's and Prince Albert's Wedding Breakfast were cheerful and lively. The wedding cake, a monstrosity covered in white sugar icing and graced by a figure showing Britannia blessing the bride and the groom who were all dressed in Ancient Greek clothing, had been sliced over half an hour ago, but Cloudia still hadn't finished her piece up.

 

 

_The cake had a circumference of almost three metres which meant that the diameter was about ninety centimetres. It also had a height of thirty to forty centimetres. And what did that all mean? A twenty-one month-old baby could easily hide in such a large cake!_

_I had to tell Kamden about this! Surely, he would be delighted over this fact!_

 

 

Not that it wasn't delicious ‒ it was absolutely delicious –, but Cloudia was just distracted by the scene in front of her eyes: Having been more or less locked up in her own house, had made her curious about the outside world and human interaction. However, as it would seem rude and immature to just stare at the wedding guests with an opened mouth, Cloudia watched them discreetly while slowly eating her cake.

 

 

_I could see Georgiana Howard, the Countess of Carlisle, wife of George Howard, sixth Earl of Carlisle, in a wonderful velvet dress in the colour of blue sapphires, and on her head was a toque of velvet. One of her daughters, Harriet Sutherland-Leveson-Gower, the Duchess of Sutherland, didn't only have an extremely long name but also was a close friend of Queen Victoria even though she was thirteen years older. Unfortunately, I hadn't got a glimpse of the Duchess until now, but I really wanted to change that. The poor thing had been married to the twenty-years-older Duke of Sutherland shortly after she had turned seventeen. Well, they had eight children now, and also had quite a lot of affection to each other, but I thought it was still horrible that she had been married at such a young age. I would never marry with seventeen._

_Whatever. I hoped that I would be able to talk to the Duchess about her philanthropic work._

_And there was the Duchess of Kent, Queen Victoria's mother, in a dreamy dress of white satin which was brocaded with silver, trimmed with three flounces of blonde, and a train of sky-blue velvet! Her head dress which was partially made of feathers was also an eyeful! I could watch the wedding guests all day!_

 

 

“I know what you are doing, and I want you to stop,” Penelope whispered to her daughter. “Eating your cake so slowly, so you would have something of a cover-up for your shameless observation. I expected more of you, Cloudia.”

Cloudia swallowed down a piece of cake which she had put into her mouth right before her mother had started speaking. “I am deeply sorry, Mother.”

“I know what is going on with you, but if someone notices that you seemingly can't even finish such a small piece of cake in over half an hour, they will get suspicious and find out about you are actually observing them. Them finding out won't benefit you, Cloudia.”

“You're right, Mother. I'm sorry.”

 

 

_What I didn't immediately notice was the fact that Mother didn't mean to scold me ‒ her words were more of a confirmation for my misery, for the fact that I did not know much of the outside world even though I read so much about it._

_That's why she hadn't sounded angry or furious, but... sorry. As if my lack of knowledge was entirely her fault._

 

_I finished eating my cake, and when I had, I politely asked Mother if I could stand up and greet the other guests. After a very long while, she allowed me it, but with the condition that I wouldn't go that far away and would stay in her field of vision. I happily agreed on that and walked off._

_After all, if I didn't talk to anyone, I couldn't prove myself. Also, they could fatally start thinking that I was a mother's girl and couldn't do anything on my own. I smoothed my dress._

_It was showtime._

 

 

Walking steadily with her back straight, Cloudia approached Lady Wilhelmina Stanhope, one of Queen Victoria's twelve bridesmaids. Like all the bridesmaids, she wore a white dress with white roses in her hair, on her bodice and skirt. Politely, Cloudia curtsied in front of her.

“Good afternoon, Lady Stanhope,” Cloudia greeted her with a friendly smile on her face.

“Good afternoon,” Lady Wilhelmina Stanhope replied with a smile on her lips. She was immensely beautiful with her thick, braided-up black hair and her shining pale eyes. “You must be Lady Phantomhive! I remember when I was younger, twelve to be exact, that I attended one of your mother's theatrical performances. She played Juliet Capulet from _Romeo and Juliet_ by William Shakespeare and was truly marvelous! You look exactly like her, so I was able to recognise you, Lady Phantomhive. Surely, you look like the image of your dear mother when she was your age.”

Cloudia lowered her head. “Thank you for your kind words, Lady Stanhope.”

“Please raise your head, child,” Lady Stanhope said and Cloudia did it. “It is wonderful that your dear mother and you are here. I've heard about the far too early passing of the Earl of Phantomhive, and the misery it brought to you. Therefore, it is good to see that the Countess and you finally started showing yourselves in public again.”

“Thank you, Lady Stanhope. But to be honest, I am not sure if my dear mother had come at all, had it been for an occasion other than Her Majesty's wedding.”

Cloudia took a quick glance towards her mother. Some nobleman had approached Penelope and was now having a friendly conversation with her, although Cloudia would bet that her mother was actually scowling on the inside.

“If we had never received an invitation for Her Majesty's wedding ‒ which is fairly the greatest honour someone had ever bestowed us – my dear mother would have never left our manor for another six years. Thus, I always will be grateful that Her Majesty bestowed us this immense honour, and gave my mother a reason to finally go outside and see the sun again – even though it is still raining outside.”

Lady Stanhope nodded. “Well-spoken, Lady Phantomhive. Powerful words for a girl of your age.”

Cloudia lowered her head again. “Thank you, Lady Stanhope,” she said before raising her head again.

“Can I tell you a secret, Lady Phantomhive?” Lady Stanhope wanted to know, and Cloudia immediately pricked up her ears.

 

 

_A secret! I couldn't await finding out what it would be!_

 

 

“Surely, Mylady,” Cloudia answered without sounding too excited. Lady Stanhope would have thought of her as childish if she hadn't banned her excitement from her voice like she had been taught.

 

 

_And someone thinking that I was childish was the worst thing which could happen to me._

 

 

Lady Wilhelmina Stanhope leaned a bit closer to Cloudia. “To be honest, child, I would have preferred it if Her Majesty had held her wedding on a Friday rather than a Monday. Then, all guests would have had a weekend to recover from these festivities and look presentable for the social gatherings in the next week.”

“But do you not know, Mylady Stanhope, of this old rhyme?” Cloudia whispered back. “‘Marry on Monday for health,/Tuesday for wealth,/Wednesday the best day of all,/Thursday for crosses,/Friday for losses, and/Saturday for no luck at all.’ It would have been _disastrous_ for Her Majesty to be wed on a Friday!”

A soft chuckle escaped Lady Stanhope's lips. “You surely are a unique girl, Lady Phantomhive.”

 

 

_Was that supposed to be a compliment or an insult? I had no clue. I smiled nevertheless._

 

 

Cloudia took a step away from Lady Stanhope when she heard someone approaching them, and she quickly fell into a flawless curtsy when she noticed who it was.

“Your Majesty.”

A big, happy smile was plastered over Queen Victoria's face ‒ a smile which had appeared on her face while walking down the aisle and towards the altar, and which had been basically engraved on her face ever since Prince Albert and she had vowed never to have secrets from each other.

“Wilhelmina, could you be so kind and let me and the young Lady Phantomhive be on our own for a while?”

Lady Stanhope curtsied in front of the Queen. “Sure, Your Majesty,” she replied and walked away.

 

 

_And for the second time today, I forgot everything I knew about breathing._

_The Queen had actually come to me!_

_Me! Humble Cloudia Phantomhive!_

 

 _Well... perhaps I wasn't_ that _humble or humble at all, but never-mind..._

 

 

“I hope I am right in my assumption that you are Lady Cloudia Phantomhive?” the newly-wed bride asked Cloudia who lowered her head. “You are, Your Majesty.”

 

 

_I had never met the Queen before, and had only seen her in the church from far away, so I was quite stunned when I realised that she was only a few centimetres taller than me. I had always thought that such great people were even great in their height._

_And no, Napoleon Bonaparte had_ not _been necessarily short ‒ while some people thought he had been about 157cm tall, others guessed that he had actually been around ten centimetres taller, which would mean that he had had an average height for a Frenchman._

 

 

“I am thankful that you found the time to attend my wedding,” Queen Victoria meant, and involuntarily, Cloudia's eyes widened.

“Oh, no, Your Majesty! _I_ should be thankful for having been invited.”

The Queen chuckled softly. “Very well, Lady Cloudia. I invited you here because I thought that you were now old enough to meet me. You _are_ going to be my Watchdog after all, and I am as inexperience as you are when it comes to it. So, I had hoped that you and I could finally talk about our future collaboration.”

Cloudia beamed, although she actually shouldn't express her emotions so freely in public, and definitely not in front of the Queen! “It would be a pleasure, Your Ma...”

Unfortunately, she couldn't go any further as suddenly Penelope Phantomhive appeared next to her, took hold of Cloudia's right hand and gently but firmly whirled her around, so Penelope stood like a shield between her and the Queen. Penelope's back was facing the Queen which was highly inappropriate, but she didn't seem to mind it at all.

“Are you fine, Cloudie?” Penelope asked her daughter with a low but surprisingly soft voice.

Confused and puzzled, Cloudia simply nodded.

And then, Penelope quickly led her outside the palace, without letting it appear that she was hurling her out even though she was. They approached the beautiful white carriage which had been waiting for them as if everyone but Cloudia had known that something like that would eventually happen.

Clifford helped them wordlessly inside the carriage, and the moment they started moving, Cloudia was horribly hit by the fact that her long-awaited chance to prove herself had been horribly destroyed right in front of everyone's eyes.

 

 

_No, no, you couldn't cry right now, Cloudia!_

 

 

But, surely, she had wanted to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: Happy Easter! (Almost forgot that.)
> 
> @thaliaarche: What you said reminded me that Barrington actually WAS named after two villains! (More or less) Hihi. Let's see if he really is one too^^
> 
> tothelasthoursofmylife.tumblr.com


	13. The Lady, Bonding

**** _“ On that certain day in August, everything changed.”_

* * *

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ August 1840**

 

 

_I woke up with a start, my lungs burning horribly. Uncontrollably, silent tears were rolling down my cheeks and my body felt numb ‒ it was like I was slowly dying inside._

_I didn't notice the maids and butlers and other servants going in and out of my room ‒ panicking, and alarming everyone. Someone touched me, but I barely felt it. Someone spoke to me, but I couldn't make out the words. Like I wasn't actually part of this world anymore._

 

_I spent some awful days ‒ I did not know how many exactly – in bed, seeing the same scene over and over again in front of my inner eyes without actually capturing it. I was there, but I had no clue what it was about. I was suffering because of it although I actually knew nothing about it._

_I saw it and didn't really see it at once._

_I was trapped inside something I had forgotten, but not entirely._

 

_And then, after some days, I woke up and could see._

_The sun was shining through my curtains, the ceiling was dark, and I could finally_ see _again._

 

_It took me a while until I noticed Barrington sitting on a chair next to my bed. But when I did, I weakly raised an arm and waved at him. “Hi, Barrington, I'm back again.”_

 

 

Sir Barrington Weaselton's eyes widened when he saw Cloudia Phantomhive waving at him. “ _Dia!_ ” he yelled, standing up so suddenly that his chair fell down.

Cloudia grimaced. “Ow. That hurt in my ears. Can't you be quieter?”

With a smile, the first one to find its way on his lips in days, and tears glittering in his eyes, Barrington carefully sat her up in her bed, so he could give her a bone-crushing hug.

“Goddammit, Cloudia. You could have warned me,” he mumbled inside her hair. “Can you even imagine the pain I had been going through during the last days?”

A sudden wave of guilt swept over her. “Sorry, Barrington,” she murmured.

He pulled her even closer to him, although she had thought that wouldn't be possible. “It's okay, Dia. It's okay.”

Barrington stopped hugging her, and instead started holding her at arm's length to examine her. “It's okay, Little One. All that matters now is that you're alright again.” He smiled again and lovingly patted her head. “But you could still have told me though. It was quite a mess when Old Ted had to tell me it after I woke up. I had no clue.” He gently pinched her cheek. “Hid some secrets from me, didn't you, Dee?”

Cloudia involuntarily chuckled. “Well... my attacks stopped being regular or frequent years ago now. They never truly vanished, but they just became rarer and rarer with every passing year. I had some little attacks in the past years though ‒ after you started being my teacher. But you have never been around when I had them, so I had no reason to tell you.” She shrugged.

He shook his head. “Just like your dear papa.” Barrington patted her again. “You didn't eat or drink properly in what felt like ages now, Dia! I'll go and make you a cup of your beloved hot milk with honey.”

Cloudia frowned. “You'll go and _make_ it? You're sure that you don't want to ask Clifford or the cook or anybody else to make it?”

“I'm absolutely certain,” he replied. “I'm 100 % serious. I will go and make you this cup of milk and honey all on my own! Even if this means that I will have to burn half of the kitchen away!”

She sighed. “I will only allow it if you're also 100 % serious about _not_ destroying any part of my manor.”

“It's still not _your_ manor, Little One.”

“But it will be in a few years, and I want to make sure that I will be able to claim it in one piece.”

Barrington laughed loudly. “I will try, my little lady.” He stood up and left Cloudia's bedroom.

As soon as he was gone, she let herself fall onto her pillows again. Her head and body still hurt even though she was back in this world. Technically, she had never left ‒ but it had felt like she had.

Just a bit of sunlight from outside found its way through the thick curtains which hung in front of her bedroom's windows. Just now, Cloudia realised that she hadn't seen the sunlight for what felt like days. How long had she been gone anyway? She didn't know.

She crawled out from underneath her blankets and walked towards a window. Her feet were bare and if there wasn't a carpet all over the floor, she would have surely frozen.

Cloudia pulled back the curtains and let sunlight flow through her room and shine onto her face. It was a sunny day and the sky was clear. Judging from the level of the sun, it was around midday now. The moment, she opened the windows to get some fresh air, a falcon flew through her window, surprising her.

The falcon landed on the windowsill and looked at her with his dark eyes. He clearly wasn't an ordinary falcon as he had something attached on his back. She had heard of messenger pigeons, and the Phantomhive family itself had a messenger owl, but she hadn't known of messenger falcons.

 

 

_Apparently, I needed to read even more books._

_Fairly, it would cause a vein of Agatha's to explode. What a mess it could cause! But for books, I would do everything._

 

 

Cloudia opened the little bag on the back of the falcon and took out an elegant envelope. She had seen the seal on it before, so she immediately knew that this letter was of great importance. Another indicator that it was was the fact that it had been sent to her by a falcon ‒ and not per a servant or per post.

Or was it just because no one but her should see the letter?

She opened the envelope and started reading the letter inside.

 

_Dear Lady Cloudia Phantomhive,_

 

_it may be late and hurried ‒ pardon me, my child! –, but due to the unfortunate and soon ending of our last meeting, I would like to invite you to a tea party, so we can talk about everything we could not speak of at my wedding._

_The tea party will be held on August 23 at two o'clock in the afternoon at Buckingham Palace. Formal attire will not be necessary as it will be just the two us attending. However, it is advised to come in your Sunday best._

_I greatly hope that even though the rushed circumstances, you will find time to arrange everything and meet me on August 23. I will look forward to it._

 

_Her Majesty, Queen Victoria_

 

_PS: I advise you against telling Sir Barrington or anyone else about our upcoming meeting to avoid another “undesirable factor” if it can be called as such._

 

Heat rose in her face, especially her cheeks, and she must have looked like an overripe tomato when she had finished reading the letter.

 

 

_I had been invited by the Queen for tea!_

 

 

Hastily, Cloudia fetched a piece of her stationery and started writing an answer to the Queen.

 

_Your Majesty,_

 

_it is more than just a simple honour to be invited by you to a tea party, and I will hereby gratefully accept._

 

_Yours sincerely,_

_Lady Cloudia Phantomhive_

 

When she was done writing and properly sealing the envelope with her signet ring, Cloudia put her answer into the falcon's bag. “You can go now, little falcon,” she said, closing the bag. “Fly to your owner and deliver my message.” As if he had understood her, he slightly tilted his head and flew out of the window. The instance the falcon was gone, Barrington returned and Cloudia quickly hid the Queen's letter in one of the pockets of her nightgown.

“Oh, what are you doing there by the window, Dia?” he asked her, putting the cup with hot milk on Cloudia's bedside cabinet.

“Just getting a bit of fresh air,” she answered him quickly but not too quickly. Otherwise, he could suspect anything. And surely, she didn't want him to find out about the Queen's surprise letter. It was her little secret after all.

“I didn't get much of it in the last couple of days after all.”

Barrington nodded. “I see.” A bright smile appeared on his lips. “Want to try out the hot milk I made you?”

Cloudia chuckled. “Be honest ‒ does the kitchen need a renovation?”

He put his hands in the air. “Honestly, Dia, the cook may have made a fuss, but otherwise nothing happened down there.”

“You really didn't blow anything up?”

“Don't you trust me, Little Phantomhive girl?” He sat down on her bed.

She giggled and he grinned. “Okay, okay, Barrington, I will try the milk. But if I fall down dead, you know that you will have to go the Queen and explain why she needs to find a brand-new family to make them the Royal family's personal murderers.”

Barrington's gaze darkened as he watched Cloudia head towards the cup, lift it and take a sip of the milk; she ignored it.

“Ugh,” she said, putting the cup down. “It's _lukewarm_. How did that happen?”

“Well... I was afraid that I could trip and spill the milk all over the floor, so I was super careful while carrying the cup upstairs. And perhaps I was a bit slow because of it.”

She sighed. “That's not even the only flaw. The milk's not only lukewarm, but you also put _far_ too much honey in it. I think I will get cavities just from this tiny sip I took. Are you sure you weren't late because you had to raid a sugar factory and steal a billion pounds of sugar to pour into the milk first?”

Barrington shrugged. “I didn't know how much honey I had to put in. But at least I didn't blow anything up. Isn't that great, Deedee?”

Cloudia giggled again and went to hug him. “Only if you promise me to never call me ‘Deedee’ again.”

He laughed and hugged her back. “I promise.”

“Even though the milk was terrible...,” she mumbled sheepishly against his chest. “... thanks for making it.”

Barrington's grin widened as he pulled her closer. “You're welcome, Dia.”

 

 

 

_Marvelous!_

_A carriage will be waiting to escort you to Buckingham Palace at the Government School of Design at half past one._

 

_Queen Victoria_

 

A day after the falcon had come through a window of Cloudia's bedroom, he came again ‒ this time with a small note from the Queen. Excited, Cloudia had written a note stating that she had understood and would stand accurately in front of the Government School of Design at 13:30.

As soon as the falcon was gone and on his way back to Buckingham Palace, Cloudia's brain worked on an excuse for her going to Somerset House on Sunday, August 23. She had never visited Somerset House before and without a reasonable excuse, Barrington would get suspicious ‒ and this potential suspicion may or may not make him think that Queen Victoria had something to do with Cloudia's strange behaviour.

But what if she just picked a place somewhere _close_ to Somerset House, and not Somerset House itself? If it were a place she had already gone to and had liked, it wouldn't seem suspicious if she decided to go there again.

 

 

_Hm... Somerset House was located in Central London... and Central London was the core of Inner London..._

_Westminster, where Buckingham Palace was, was in Inner London, so was..._

_Kensington._

 

 

A bright smile formed on Cloudia's lips when epiphany kissed her. There was one place in Kensington, North Kensington to be exact, where she liked to go, and which she visited as often as she could. She could go and ask Barrington if she could go there. But what made this place absolutely perfect for her purpose was the fact that she could even ask Barrington if she could go there _on her own_ without raising any suspicions.

 

 

_This place was perhaps the only place in the entire world I had free access to._

_And Barrington_ never _denied me my wish to go there._

_I could dance around in utter joy!_

 

 

_As it took a few hours to get to London from the Phantomhive Manor, I said goodbye to Barrington at eight o'clock. He hugged me and told me to be careful before he let me go to London all on my own ‒ only accompanied by the coachman and a footman. They were just my escorts: They would bring me there and pick me up at eight o'clock in the evening. While I was busy with my little visit ‒ and my secret, bigger visit with the Queen, although I wouldn't say that me visiting him was of no importance to me –, they would go and walk around the town, making a few errands for the household here and there._

_Today, I wore a simple light brown dress, white knee-high stockings and dull black shoes. Also, I had thrown on a dark brown cloak. Of course, I wouldn't face the Queen in this more or less shabby outfit, but it wouldn't be good if anyone recognised me as a daughter of the upper class while being in North Kensington. I always dressed up like that when I visited him. But then it only helped a bit as I was too pale and delicate to fully melt into the crowd of poorer people. However, he also was quite delicate and pale, and he lived there all on his own._

_I was driven in the simplest and most unremarkable carriage of the Phantomhive family to London, and after half an hour, I cursed myself because I completely forgot to bring a book with me. Poor, poor_ Nicholas Nickleby _was laying on my bedside cabinet all alone now. I would have to comfort him in the evening._

_Sighing, I leaned back and nearly bored myself to death until we finally arrived._

 

_Dear, dear, Cloudia Phantomhive. You really had to rethink your plans more often._

 

 

_Around two awful hours later, we finally arrived. I hopped out of the carriage, taking my valise with me, and not waiting until the footman opened the door for me. I waved them goodbye and wished them a happy shopping day. I stood by the street until they were gone, then I turned around on my heels and flounced through the door of the Sainteclare Bookstore._

 

 

It was Sunday, and even though the bookstore was closed, its owner was still as busy and diligent as always. Two days ago, Cloudia had sent him a letter in which she had announced her visit, and still he hadn't been able to stop himself from sorting new books, putting old ones to their right places and calculating this week's earnings.

Surely, Kamden Sainteclare would never change.

He looked up when she entered the bookstore, and he stopped putting back books. Instead, he walked towards her, his big blue eyes shining faintly in his pale face which was framed with wild raven locks. “Go-good mor... morning, Clou-Cloudia.”

Cloudia smiled at him.

 

 

“He looked like me.”

_That had been my very first thought when I had met Kamden. We both had thick black hair, big blue eyes, ivory skin and high cheekbones. It had highly irritated me when I had stepped into the Sainteclare Bookstore for the first time and saw him ‒ Kamden Sainteclare, my male mirror._

_My mother and her three sisters had vowed as young girls to give their children all names beginning with a “C.” I mostly had female cousins, but I had only one male one whose name started with a “K” ‒ the letter closest to a “C.”_

_This had been the first thing what had come to my mind, when I had first heard Kamden's name and asked him about the spelling of it. And the second thing had been that the spelling of his name was as weird as mine. My name was spelled “Cloudia” rather than “Claudia,” and his name was written as “Kamden” rather than “Camden.”_

_We were both born on April 5, 1830, but he was a few minutes my senior. He was an orphan ‒ found as an infant in St. Lacey, the little village closest to Phantomhive Manor, by the Sainteclares._

_Kamden was tall and slim ‒ just like me. He loved books ‒ just like me. He didn't like crowds ‒ just like me. We had so much in common, and still there were a few things which made us different. For example, while being well-mannered, highly intelligent and having an extraordinarily far-fetching vocabulary from reading dictionaries all the time, Kamden had a terrible stutter. I, however, had never once tripped over my own words._

_Also, Kamden was shy and insecure ‒ both things I was not._

_But he understood things far quicker than I did, and he had read much more books than I had from growing up in a bookstore, while my Watchdog training swallowed up a lot of time I could have spent reading. Thus, his knowledge of the world and everything existing was far greater than mine._

_We were the same, and at the same time, we were not._

_Encountering such a person, had taken my interest. How in the world could such a person exist without me knowing about it? Without him knowing about me?_

_And when Barrington had innocently remarked that Kamden's messy hair reminded him of the messy hair of my father's, and even his character reminded him of his late best friend, I had almost been about to bet my entire future fortune on the assumption that Kamden was no one else but my long-lost twin._

_Good that I hadn't done it, because we weren't twins._

_Kamden was not my friend ‒ he was so much more than that. He may not be my real twin, but he surely was my mirror._

_He was my Almost Twin._

_And I loved him endlessly because of it._

 

 

“Good morning, Kamden.” Cloudia walked towards him and gave him a small hug. Kamden did not like being touched by others, but while he was fine being touched by Cloudia, she still refrained from giving him bone-crushing hugs.

“I am happy to see you again, Kammie,” she said after stepping away from him.

“Me... me too, Clou-Cloudie,” Kamden returned and took one of her hands.

 

 

_People kept saying that meeting your doppelgänger meant bad luck, in Breton as well as in Cornish and Norman French folklore doppelgängers were even versions of Ankou, one of many personifications of death ‒ but to me, meeting Kamden was one of the best things which ever happened to me._

 

 

Cloudia smiled and dragged him towards the pile of books he had been sorting right before she had entered the store. Silently, she started putting the books to their right places and although Kamden promptly protested, saying that she shouldn't do that, they were soon sorting books together without a little word escaping their mouths.

 

 

_Kamden was braver than he thought he was ‒ after all, he lived in North Kensington all by his own. And he was only a few minutes older than me. Several times, I had invited him to live with me at the manor, but he had always refused._

_As I had been anxious about his well-being in North Kensington and because Barrington had also grown to like Kamden a lot, he had promptly taken him as his ward. However, as Kamden was just as stubborn as I was, he just kept refusing to leave the bookstore, even though Barrington had told him that it wouldn't just vanish if he stopped living there. At least, as Kamden was Barrington's ward now, nobody would ever dare laying a finger on him. Barrington may not be the Head of the Order of the British Empire anymore, but he had been it for a very long time and he was still feared. His connection to the previous Watchdog was just a bonus._

_Also, I was still there. And I was ready to chomp off the heads of everyone who dared hurting my Almost Twin._

 

_But him living in North Kensington all on his own was not the sole reason why I thought he was braver than I would ever be. With his terrible stutter he had to struggle talking to vendors or even saying a simple “hello.” He had to worry about all these little things most people did without batting an eye. Still, Kamden faced every day anew ‒ trying to prove that he was more than his stutter. That he was brave enough to continue to face the world of speak even with his stutter. That stuttering didn't make him less amazing than he was._

 

 

When they finished sorting the new and old books, Kamden boiled up water and made them a can of tea. And while they were sitting at the small table in Kamden's little kitchen, Cloudia took a deep breath.

 

 

_He's my Almost Twin. He would definitely help me._

_Or not?_

 

 

“Kamden,” she started and he looked up from his cup, his big blue eyes shining darkly in the dim light.

 

 

_I wondered if my eyes looked just the same right now._

 

 

“Can you do me a favour?”

He cleared his throat. “Whaaaat ki-ki... kind of fa-favour?”

 

 

_Now or never, Cloudia!_

 

 

“I got an invitation from the Queen,” Cloudia told him and Kamden's eyes widened. “The-the Queen?”

She nodded. “She invited me to come to Buckingham Palace for tea, but nobody should know. Neither Barrington nor anyone else except me. But I told you because I need you as my alibi.

“Because Barrington should not know about this meeting, I had to find a way to get to London without him becoming suspicious. And because a carriage will await me at Somerset House to pick me up and escort me to Buckingham Palace, I said to him that I would visit you as you live only one hour and around fifty minutes away from Somerset House. Sorry for using you like this, Kam. I swear that I will never do this again.

“The tea party starts at two o'clock, and the carriage will be awaiting me at half past one, so I need to head to Somerset House around two hours earlier. But because nobody can know that I'm actually there and not here, I need you. You need to promise me that you will never tell anyone about my meeting with the Queen today. Never in your entire life.”

Cloudia looked at him, and Kamden kept staring at her before he hesitantly extended his arm and took her hand. He usually didn't touch her, so this was quite odd for him.

“Whe-When wiiill you be... be ba-back?” he asked to Cloudia's surprise.

“I am not sure,” she answered him honestly. “But I guess I wouldn't return later than five o'clock.”

Kamden nodded and took a deep breath. “Wi-Will you... Will you be al... alright aaaalone?”

Her gaze softened.

 

 

_Oh, Kamden._

 

 

Cloudia squeezed his hand. “I will. I promise you that I will be alright, Kammie. You don't need to worry about me. Nobody will hurt me there.”

He nodded again. “Can... can you... Dooo you fe-feel li-like wan-wanting to go to Som-Somerset Hou... House alone?”

She smiled at him. “It's okay, Kam. You don't need to accompany me. I will be alright.”

 

 

_In the valise, I had taken with me, were spare clothes and a few little daggers I had secretly snatched from the weapon's room when nobody was around. I guess, I would be fine._

 

 

They didn't say anything for a while ‒ just sat in silence by the table, holding each others hands.

 

 

_We may not be real twins, we weren't even blood-related at all, but somehow, we still worked like we were._

 

 

_At eleven o'clock, I took my valise and vanished into Kamden's bathroom ‒ after asking him of course ‒ to get changed._

_I switched the light brown dress with a light summer dress in the colour of the sky with lace on the rims, around my waist and the neckline, which I had chosen for the Queen's little tea party._

_This morning I had ordered Jonalyn to make me a simple ponytail ‒ not only because it was part of my disguise, but also because asking Jonalyn for things which required flair was like asking a dog to wash the dishes: They just weren't suitable for these kind of tasks._

_Good thing, I knew how to get dressed and do my hair all by myself._

_I braided a few forget-me-nots into my hair and pinned it up a bit before I hid the daggers underneath and in my clothing. I hoped that my elegant but simple outfit and hair-do would be appropriate for the Queen's exclusive tea party. She had told me to come in my “Sunday's best” after all, but who could know what exactly she meant by that?_

_I just hoped that I neither under-dressed nor overdressed myself on accident. That would be fatal._

_I was to be Her Majesty's Watchdog in six years ‒ I simply couldn't allow me a modish faux pas._

_Before I put my disguise clothes in the valise and left the bathroom to return to Kamden, I looked into the tiny mirror which hung at one wall in the bathroom._

 

_I took a deep breath and told myself in my mind: “You are Lady Cloudia Phantomhive, the future Countess of Phantomhive and Watchdog of the Queen. You will be the first female to hold the title in your own right, and the first one to ever become the Watchdog._

“ _Only the Queen is more powerful than you._

“ _You will not fail. You will not be a disgrace. Neither to the Phantomhive name nor to all the previous Watchdogs. You can do this.”_

_I took another deep breath and locked my gaze with the me in the mirror._

“I can do this.”

 

 

After Cloudia had put her valise in a corner, so it wouldn't bother anyone, she went back to the area of the actual bookstore. And, of course, Kamden had resumed working although she hadn't been gone for long.

“Kamden,” she said and he looked up from his paper work immediately. She walked towards him and took his hand. “I have to go now.” She squeezed it gently. “I will be back at approximately five o'clock, perhaps even earlier. Don't worry about me, I will be fine. I promise.”

She smiled at him and let go of his hand.

“Ta-Take ca... care, Clou-Cloudie,” Kamden told her when she grabbed her cloak and put it on, so it would cover her “upper class gown.”

Cloudia presented him another bright and loving smile. “I will. Make sure that the door's locked while I'm gone.” She waved him goodbye and left the bookstore.

 

 

_I had never walked alone through the town before._

_I had always been with Barrington, or one of my cousins with their maids or parents. And if I traveled to London on my own, just like today, I would only drive in the carriage and spend the rest of the time by the person I was visiting. So, I had never really been alone in London before._

_But now I was ‒ and it was amazing._

_There were so many people around! I even walked past some market stalls selling wonderful things, and I had to fight the urge to stop and examine every single thing they offered. To buy something for my cousins, for Barrington, for Kamden, my aunts, my uncles and me. For my mother. And when I saw a stall selling enormously beautiful flowers, the kind you could see as little paintings in books, the thought of buying a few of these beauties and putting them on my late father's grave crossed my mind._

_The moment this thought came to my mind, I was suddenly reminded that I hadn't visited him in what felt like ages. The last time had been roughly a year ago after I had won a tournament. In the finale, I had to face a fairly strong opponent, so I had been even happier when I had won. Barrington had accompanied me, but had stayed in the background while I had told Father everything about it._

_When I was back home after the Queen's tea party, I had to go and report it to Father._

_After all, I may not be allowed to tell anyone about it, but dead men renownedly told no tales._

 

 

_I continued walking, fighting not to get distracted by the beauty of London, and arrived at Somerset House a few minutes before half past one. I greeted the coachman who had been sent to pick me up before he helped me climb into the carriage which was made of polished dark wood with fine engravings ‒ beautiful, but not extravagant or sensational._

_As soon as I was seated inside the carriage, the coachman started driving towards Buckingham Palace. I took off my brown cloak, hoping that I could leave it in the carriage or that a footman would come and take it from me before I met the Queen. My cloak was the only thing which fairly wasn't appropriate for a tea party with the Queen. I simply hoped that she wouldn't see me in it._

 

_I had seen Buckingham Palace before, but I was still amazed by its beauty when we finally arrived and drove through the gates. The coachman helped me out of the carriage like a true gentleman and I smiled at him warmly. The Queen's butlers, a maid and a footman arrived and greeted me, telling the coachman that he was dismissed now. Then, to my relief, the footman took my cloak and vanished. I couldn't ask the butlers where he had run off with my cloak as they had already started to lead me to the drawing room._

_I caught my heart beating a little bit faster with every step which brought me closer to the parlour._

_Guards stood right and left to the huge door to the parlour and opened it when we approached. And as we were let into the drawing room, my eyes widened._

_It was incredibly beautiful._

_On the ground laid a large red carpet with wonderful flower patterns on it. Four large glass chandeliers hung from the adorned golden ceiling. Golden-coloured columns nestled against the walls and rose up to the ceiling. There was a white chimney in the room with two candle-holders and a clock on top of it. Above the chimney was a large mirror which reflected the window opposite from it ‒ and the brilliant light which shone through it. Beautiful seatings and tables which had been lovingly decorated with engravings stood by the walls. On top of some tables, I spotted the dark blue Sèvres Vases which had been acquired by King George IV in the second half of the last century._

_The curtains and the upholstery of the chairs, armchairs and sofas were of pastel blue and azul, and the instance I realised this I knew exactly where I was: This was the Blue Drawing Room. The room which was originally meant to be a ballroom._

_I had heard that it was beautiful, but I had never imagined it to be so_ stunning _._

_And I was a little bit sad that I couldn't marvel at the room's beauty any longer as a round table full of cakes and sweets had been placed in the middle of the parlour with two chairs around it ‒ and someone was sitting on one of them._

 

 

“Lady Cloudia Phantomhive has arrived,” one of the Queen's butlers announced, bowing in front of his Queen and mistress. Then, they stepped away, allowing Queen Victoria to look at Cloudia as they had been blocking her sight to her first.

The Queen was looking extraordinarily lovely in her off-white dress with the blue sash over her chest and the amazing pattern on the lower part of the dress' skirt. The colour of the dress stood in contrast to her dark hair colour, and the blue of the sash made her pale blue eyes shine. The flower crown on top of her head gave Victoria something majestic and friendly ‒ simple ‒ at once. However, the thing what was making the Queen so lovely right now was the fact that her belly now had a respectable size and was clearly visible underneath her gowns.

 

 

_Etiquette actually said that pregnant women should not get visitors or go out in public, but I guessed this could be overlooked by the Queen and when something important had to be discussed._

 

 

Cloudia curtsied in front of the young queen. “Your Majesty.”

Queen Victoria smiled at her and waved away her servants. As soon as the door was closed again, the Queen raised her voice. “You may sit with me, Lady Cloudia.”

 

 

_You could do that, Cloudia._

“You can do that.”

 

 

Cloudia walked as elegantly as possible without looking silly or like a little girl who was trying to imitate an adult towards the second chair and seated herself on it.

Queen Victoria smiled warmly at her. “You look beautiful today, Lady Cloudia,” she complimented her. “Did you pick your clothes by yourself?”

 

 

_Was that a test?_

 

 

Cloudia sat up straighter on her chair. “I did, Your Majesty. I prefer picking my clothes by myself.”

“I am happy for you that you can. I may be the Queen, but I am also restricted in some points.”

Cloudia smiled at Victoria's words.

“And your hair! Did you braid the forget-me-nots into your hair by yourself?” the Queen asked her friendly.

Cloudia was beaming when she answered. “Yes, I did braid them into my hair all by myself, Your Majesty.”

“This hairstyle definitely suits you very well,” Victoria meant. “When I come to think of it, did you not wear flowers in your hair at my wedding too?”

“Yes, I did, Your Majesty.”

Victoria smiled. Her smile made Cloudia feel warm and comfortable ‒ and she wondered why exactly her mother and Barrington did not seem to like her. Her father, Simon Phantomhive, had been the Watchdog of Charles IV and William IV, not of Victoria. They assumed that Simon had died because he had been given a task far too dangerous to handle ‒ but not Victoria had given it to him, but her uncle, the former king. She had nothing to do with it, so there was no reason to hate her because of it.

“I remember that the flowers you wore on the day of my wedding were pink, and that I did not know what their name was. Could you be so kind and tell me?”

“These were gladioli, Your Majesty,” Cloudia answered happily. “The flower crown which you are wearing today is also very lovely, Your Majesty. Dahlias in cream and pale red.”

The Queen laughed. “You are very knowledgeable in this field, Lady Cloudia.” She pointed at the wonderful cakes and biscuits. “Feel free to take some. I am sorry that I forgot offering you anything earlier.”

“It is alright, Your Majesty,” Cloudia said, before she took a little piece of sponge cake.

“I am glad that it is.” Then, the Queen suddenly went silent, leaned back and put one hand over her growing belly. “I am sorry to change the topic so suddenly and perhaps even ruin the room's atmosphere, but there is something I really need to talk with you about.”

And when Victoria's gaze turned serious, Cloudia prepared herself for the worst.

 

 

_What if she had just invited me for tea, so she could tell me the news that I was not going to be her Watchdog as another family had been found to follow into the Phantomhives' footsteps?_

 

 

“I am sorry that you have to go through so much because of me,” Victoria said in the end, surprising Cloudia.

She blinked. “Pardon, but I do not know what you mean, Your Majesty.”

The Queen's eyes were full of sorrow when she looked at Cloudia. “I mean the Phantomhive System,” she said with an incredibly soft voice.

“The Phantomhive System?” Cloudia asked.

“Did you never hear the term? It is the system in which you have been put by my uncle's advisers after your father passed away.”

 

 

_Something inside me froze._

_It had a name._

_My suffering had a name._

_And the Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland felt sorry for me because of it. Because of this “Phantomhive System.”_

 

_But why?_

 

 

“No words in the world will be able to express how sorry I am for you that you have to endure such a terrible thing,” Victoria continued. “And I do not know if you know ‒ but you are not alone.”

Cloudia allowed herself to stare a little bit at the Queen who put her hand over Cloudia's.

“When I was five years old, the Kensington System which my mother, the Duchess of Kent, and Sir John Conroy brought to live, started. I had to endure a strict daily schedule and was kept isolated from other children. I was only allowed to leave the palace a few times and always had to be at my mother's side ‒ or at the side of my governesses.

“But unlike you, I was at least able to play with my older half-sister and Sir Conroy's daughter. And while the Phantomhive System is only there to prepare you for your future duty as my Watchdog and make you stronger, the Kensington System's goal was to make me weak and dependent, so I wouldn't turn against my mother and Sir Conroy with my paternal family. So Mama could have her regency.”

Victoria took Cloudia's hand and squeezed it like she had done it with Kamden's hand earlier today.

“The only thing which is better about the Phantomhive System is the fact that Penelope Phantomhive never created it. That she never supported it. You do not know how terrible it is to know that your _own mother_ made you endure something so dreadful, and I am happy that, while the Phantomhive System is otherwise far more horrible than the Kensington System ever was, you were spared of this feeling.”

 

 

_I did not know what do say. For the first time in my life, I did not know what to say._

 

 

“And I am sorry,” the Queen spoke further, taking away the obligation to reply something. “that I am not able to free you from it. Like I said before, I may be Queen, but that doesn't mean that I am not restricted.

“However, while I cannot free you from the Phantomhive System and give you the freedom you deserve and which was never given to me, I can give you something else to ease your suffering.

“I can shorten its duration.”

 

 

_I couldn't believe her words. Had she really said them or had it been all a dream? Was I still lying in my bed, there and not there, screaming in my mind but not in reality? Had I been tricked by my own mind?_

_Secretly, I pinched myself under the table, and the moment I felt the pain, I knew that I wasn't dreaming or imagining._

_The Queen's words had been as real as it was possible._

 

_And I nearly burst into tears at this realisation._

 

 

Cloudia cleared her throat, finally finding the strength to say something. “What exactly do you mean with ‘shorten its duration,’ Your Majesty?”

“I hope that you are aware of the fact that the Phantomhive System is over when you become my Watchdog,” the Queen explained patiently. “Like I already said, I cannot abolish the system. I argued with my advisers over it after I became queen, but they have the opinion that the system is a blessing for you, not a torture. And while I grew up in a similar system and know how you feel like ‒ isolated, oppressed, alone – I also think that the system will benefit you in some way. I may not have liked the strictness and the isolation, but I am grateful for the wonderful education I have received. If I had never learned how to speak German, for example, which I did in the Kensington System, I would not have been able to speak with my darling Albert.

“Still, the Phantomhive System is terrible due to many aspects like the Kensington System was. I do not want to euphemize the dreadfulness to grow up without freedom. Therefore, I have decided to help you in the only way I can: To shorten the system's duration in making you my Watchdog sooner than planned.”

Cloudia froze at Victoria's words, although she was filled with excitement. “You want to make me your Watchdog _before_ I turn sixteen?” she asked further. “Before the arranged time, Your Majesty?”

Victoria smiled. “That is right, Lady Cloudia.”

 

 

_Hadn't it been inappropriate, I would have stood up and hugged her as tightly as I could in sheer happiness._

 

 

“When do you intend to make me your Watchdog then, Your Majesty?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“I have thought not to do it immediately as too much of your education would get lost otherwise,” the Queen said. “And I also cannot do it in a few months. Surely, I do not want to make you suffer any longer, but I cannot appoint you as my Watchdog so soon due to the reason I have already given to you. But I thought about it for a very long time now and calculated everything by myself, even asked my Albert about his opinion, and I came to the conclusion that you could be ready when you turn twelve – also in approximately two years rather than six.”

Cloudia's eyes widened and she had to fight the urge not to start crying. “I am forever grateful for your consideration, for the fact that you've spent so much time trying to find a way to help me, Your Majesty.”

Victoria smiled beautifully. “I did it gladly, Lady Cloudia. Never in my life, I could stand by and watch someone suffer from such a system like I had. I am confident that you can learn all the things you were supposed to learn in the next six years in just two. From all I have heard of you, and from the conversation we are having now, I know that you are certainly intelligent and strong enough to accomplish this hard task.”

“I will not disappoint you, Your Majesty!” Cloudia exclaimed determinedly. “I will accomplish this task without much effort.”

The Queen's smile grew. “I know you will. And I know that you will do it wonderfully, Lady Cloudia.”

 

 

_I beamed with joy._

_All my suffering, all my restrictions ‒ they would be gone in less than two years._

_Fairly, this was the happiest day in my entire life._

 

_The Queen was so friendly, big-hearted and noble ‒ she was a wonderful person and absolutely suited as queen. When she had ascended the throne with eighteen, Victoria had immediately been loved by her subjects ‒ with only last year's court intrigue about a possible affair between Sir John Conroy and Lady Flora Hastings, one of the ladies-in-waiting of the Duchess of Kent, tainting her reputation._

_She was so considerate to find a way to help me out of the Phantomhive System, and she was so nice to invite me for tea even though she was pregnant, just because she wanted to get to know me and apologise to me for suffering under the Phantomhive System._

_Of course, the Queen had made mistakes in the past, but she was still very inexperienced when it came to being a queen, so it was fine and it did not make her a less good person._

_When I came to think of it... she did not seem to be the kind of person who hated people without a reason ‒ but why did she despise Barrington so much?_

 

 

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Cloudia replied before she looked down on her lap.

 

 

Could I really ask her? _, I thought before scolding myself. After all, how could I be the next Watchdog when I could not do something as simple as asking a question?_

 

 

Cloudia looked up and directly into Victoria's eyes. “Excuse me, Your Majesty, may I ask you a question?”

The Queen smiled sweetly. “Of course, you may, Lady Cloudia.”

“I was wondering why you do not seem to be fond of my fencing teacher and my father's best friend, Sir Barrington Weaselton, and wanted to ask you if you could tell me the reason of your apparent hatred.”

All of a sudden, Victoria's blue eyes darkened. “I knew that you would ask this question one day. I just didn't think it would come so soon, but never-mind. I will tell you,” she said, her voice not sounding as sweet and nice as before anymore. “I have various reasons for not liking Sir Barrington. One is the fact that he hurt the fragile heart of one of my friends. After your father's death ‒ may the Earl rest in peace in Heaven – Sir Barrington started to behave... inappropriately. Society was talking about his bad behaviour, even his own family turned its back against him. Only his wife, my friend he hurt, supported him with all her love. Sir Barrington may have become a disgrace to the knights and the upper class, but she still stayed by his side. He, however, did not seem to share this love and divorced her shamelessly, throwing her away of his house without any reason. Now, everyone was talking about her and speculating what she had done to make him file for divorce. They badmouthed her and made her even more miserable than she already was by continuing to stomp on her broken heart.”

Cloudia's head had started to hurt while Victoria had spoken. “I do not understand,” she slowly said. “Who is the friend you are talking about?”

The Queen frowned at her, and in her eyes laid concern and puzzlement. “I am speaking of Samantha Capper – Sir Barrington's former wife.”

 

 

_And then, my headache suddenly became worse before it almost disappeared in the next moment – only to leave a faint pain –, and I remembered. I couldn't believe that I didn't remember it the instance she had spoken about Barrington's wife._

_From a place in the far back of my mind, I was able to reach out to an old and blurry memory of mine: I remembered laughter, sunshine, the smell of grass and flowers – and bright red hair like fire and eyes like emeralds. I remembered being picked up and being told a funny tale – and the laughter which had filled the two of us._

_So many memories like these were slowly coming back to me – still blurry, but there – and I felt guilty for forgetting about these times, forgetting about this person._

 

 

“Barrington divorced Aunt Sam?” Cloudia blurted out, feeling embarrassed right away after the words had left her mouth for addressing Samantha Weaselton in such a familiar and intimate way.

 

 

_According to my blurry memory full of holes, Barrington and Samantha had always been very “lovely-dovey.” It was unimaginable that they were now divorced._

 

 

“He has never told you about it?” the Queen asked, surprised. “I believed he would have told you about that at least, even if he had not told you the entire story.”

Cloudia shook her head. “He never mentioned Samantha to me, although we are seeing us almost every day for four years now.”

“I cannot believe it! Trampling on a delicate girl's heart like that and then pretending as if anything like that never happened. I was never very fond of Sir Barrington for breaking Lady Samantha's heart like this after everything she had done for him, but now I have one more reason not to like him.”

Victoria leaned back on her chair. “Like I have said, this is not the only reason why I do not like Barrington Weaselton. Also, you have to know, Lady Cloudia, that I simply do not only dislike him, but I am suspicious of him to the degree that I am worrying if it was a good decision to let him teach you. I know your father stated in the extract of his will I got to read that Sir Barrington should become your fencing teacher, and his wish was gladly fulfilled but I still have my doubts about it.”

Cloudia's eyes widened. “I can see why you do not like Barrington ‒ but I cannot understand how you can be suspicious of him, Your Majesty. No matter what he has done to Samantha, he is still a good person. He was the best friend of my father who trusted him so much that he has even given his will to him to keep it safe.”

“I know that, my dear,” the Queen replied, her face full of sadness. “And while I do not intend to badmouth Sir Barrington, I cannot disregard one thing which is the reason of my suspicion towards him.

“Lady Cloudia ‒ did Sir Barrington ever tell you where he was on the day your father died?”

 

 

_I stared at the Queen for the second time today._

 

_Where Barrington had been when Father died? My headaches came back with this question._

 

_A few years ago on Christmas, when Aunt Eleanor had hosted the festivities, I had accidentally overheard her scolding Constantia for bringing up the topic of Father's death. Apparently, she was afraid that I could freak out, become sad or have an attack if someone started talking about Father's day of death or asking me about it. Therefore, she was making sure that conversations about this topic would never go as far as “Simon Phantomhive died in 1834 and his wife locked herself up afterwards.” At least, when I was around._

_When I came to think of it, Barrington didn't talk about it either. Also, every time I asked him a question about my father, he either changed the topic or answered it without really answering it ‒ like when I had once asked “What was my father's routine when he had a new case to handle?” and he had answered “Well, you see, Dia, Si was a really good Watchdog ‒ always solving his cases.” Of course, Barrington sometimes spoke about Father, but then he either mumbled something around “Why didn't she turn out more like her father?” or “Exactly like her father” or he said something general like “Si was the best person I knew.” He never said “Si was the best person I knew because he single-handedly built an orphanage and knit socks for the poor” or anything like that._

_I didn't know if Aunt Eleanor had forced him to avoid speaking about Father very much and in detail or if he did that on his own initiative._

 

 

Cloudia slowly shook her head. “No. He barely ever speaks about my father.”

“I guessed so,” Victoria replied with a sigh. “You need to know, Lady Cloudia, that Sir Barrington was aiding your father in his last case. Simon Phantomhive went to London to investigate it ‒ and Barrington Weaselton accompanied him. However, when you and your mother visited Simon later, which happened to be the day the Earl was murdered, Sir Barrington was nowhere to be seen in the Phantomhive townhouse according to some testimonies. Sir Barrington stayed at the Phantomhive townhouse with your father during their investigations which were not completed at that time, and they still are not. Still, neither his possessions nor himself were there when you arrived with your mother. Also, your father was aware of the fact that his wife and daughter would come to see him on that day ‒ so why would he send his best friend away who happened to like both? I know that because my uncle told me that the Earl entrusted him about your visit and that he was looking forward to it.

“I know that this is not enough to blame Sir Barrington for the Earl's death ‒ something I surely do not want to do –, but his absence on that day still sounds very fishy to me. Besides, there is another thing which is making me suspicious.

“Watchdogs have Aristocrats of Evil who help them during their investigations for the crown. The number of Aristocrats a Watchdog has varies from Watchdog to Watchdog. For example, your father had two ‒ Sir Barrington and Mrs Theresa Dale, the rich widow of an entrepreneur. Not only wasn't Sir Barrington at the Phantomhive townhouse for some reason when your father died, Mrs Dale moved to the States shortly after the Earl's death ‒ a circumstance I think is fairly odd.

“But these are all speculations ‒ and not even me can take someone to court without proof.”

 

 

_I couldn't believe her words. As much I wanted to think that Barrington of all people simply could_ not _be involved in Father's death, the Queen's words let my, in fact, blind trust to Barrington waver._

 

 

Again, Victoria put her hand over Cloudia's. “I know that you are confused now and don't know what to believe and what not, but I want you to know that I did not say all these things to villainise Sir Barrington ‒ I said all these things for your own sake, Lady Cloudia.

“The life of the Watchdog is not an easy one. Of course, I did not experience and will never experience it first-handled, but as the Watchdog's employer, I am aware of the dangers coming with this occupation. And as it is commonly known, dangers walk hand in hand with enemies.

“There are different kinds of enemies: Enemies who show their true faces openly to you. Enemies who disguise themselves as friends you have spent many years with, or even as family members who would eventually backstab you. Therefore, I want you to know that, as Watchdog, you should not trust anyone blindly ‒ no matter if you have known this person all your life. You need to be careful and always be alarmed ‒ only giving out as little information about yourself as possible to someone else. You can be friendly and be friends with others, of course you can and I would never interfere with this kind of affair, but you always need to keep in mind not to trust people easily and to keep a certain distance between yourself and them, no matter how close you are actually to each other. After all, as Watchdog, you can never be absolutely certain that they will not eventually betray you.

“The life of a queen is a similar one: You always have to be careful around others. You always need to present yourself as best as you can. The moment you make a mistake, the moment you show weakness, society will never let go of it and haunt you with it forever. Humans like gossiping and badmouthing others. And they like using other persons' weaknesses against them to feel superior. To have something to use against them. To have something they can use to let them fall down as terribly as possible.

“I am only telling you all this, Lady Cloudia, because I do not want you to get hurt. The less you open yourself up to others, the more likely it is that you will not get hurt. I hope you understand that.”

 

 

_It was scary to think that Barrington or anyone else I engaged with could eventually be part of my downfall. But the Queen was right: This had happened in the past and it could definitely happen to me too if I weren't careful enough. Gaius Julius Caesar had been stabbed by his close friend Marcus Brutus, Jesus Christ had been betrayed by his apostle Judas for nothing more than 30 silver coins, and Do_ _ña Marina or La Malinche had turned back against her own people and helped the Spanish conquer the Aztec Empire. History had proven that people could turn against their friends and family all the time, so it wasn't very unlikely that it could also happen to me._

_It was still terrible to think of Barrington, my cousins, my aunts and my uncles as possible traitors. Also, I doubted that_ Constantia _was capable of betraying me or selling me to my enemies. She was too much of a ditz to do something like that. Ceara, however, was more likely to do anything like that as she was very observant and witty, even though she was just nine years old. She was loud and slightly annoying, but it was hard to make out what she was actually thinking. Clarissa was a very strict person and held great value of rules. If she was ever to get the hint_ _‒ which would definitely be a false one – that I had done something against the crown, she would betray me faster than the fastest horse on the planet could gallop. Cathleen and Celeste were both too frail and fragile to be able to betray anyone. Also, they were too good by heart and couldn't even hurt a fly. And Keegan – Keegan was in many ways like his sister: observant and inscrutable. The fact that he was tall with broad shoulders and always had a scowl on his face was a bonus._

_But, of course, I could be wrong about them. Just because Clarissa was rules-bound, and Keegan and Ceara were odd didn't mean that they would betray me. And just because_ _Cathleen and Celeste were fragile and kind, and Constantia was a cloudcuckoolander didn't mean that they would not._

 

_I took a deep mental breath. The Queen was right. Trusting people too easily could murder me sooner or later. No matter if they were family or if I had known them all my life._

_I had to be careful. From now on, I had to be less open and more cautious._

 

 

“Lady Cloudia, dear, you are looking pale,” Victoria suddenly said, bringing Cloudia back to reality. “Is everything fine?”

“Everything is fine, I am fine, Your Majesty,” Cloudia answered and took a sip of her tea. It had gone cold.

“I am terribly sorry for pushing so many disturbing things at you at once, Lady Cloudia. You are still very young. I should not have done this.”

“It is fine, Your Majesty. I can handle it,” she said with absolute determination. “It was better that you have told me all these things now and not later. The sooner I start being more careful, the better it will be.”

The Queen smiled brightly. “That is wonderful to hear, Lady Cloudia.”

“I just want to make everything right,” Cloudia replied. “I do not wish to disappoint anyone.”

All of a sudden, the Queen grimaced for the briefest of seconds, but Cloudia had still caught sight of it. “Your Majesty,” she carefully and slowly said after a moment, her heart racing in her chest as she knew that something was wrong. “Is there still anything you want to tell me?”

Victoria sighed. “I am sorry to tell you this, dear, but while I think that you will be a great Watchdog and will never disappoint me, my advisers think otherwise.” With a serious gaze, the Queen looked directly into Cloudia's eyes. “For a very short time, they warmed up with the thought of a girl becoming the next Watchdog. It was after you showed exceptional talent in fencing. However, this phase only held for a very short time as they were not fond of the way your mother was shadowing you at my wedding. They said that it seemed like you were still a little child despite your talent, and thus stayed with your mother most of the time as you were still dependent on her. Furthermore, they thought that you were dressed very childishly. While they approved of your dress, they greatly disapproved of your hair-do. The Royal advisers are of the opinion that putting flowers all over someone's hair is just something a child would do. I love it how your hair looks like with these flowers as it truly suits you, but for them, this is just something very childish. Grown-up women do not decorate their hair as excessively with flowers like you do. ‘Perhaps one or two flowers, but they do not put an entire garden in their hair’ like the advisers phrased it. Even my guests talked about how ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ you looked. ‘Like a little girl.’ The advisers want someone mature and not someone who appears to be childish.

“It is breaking my heart to tell you all these things in a single day, Lady Cloudia, it truly does, but if you do not match with the standards of the Royal advisers until your twelfth birthday, I will not be able to make you my Watchdog earlier than planned. This means that you would have to live under the Phantomhive System until you turn sixteen ‒ just like it was originally decided by my uncle.”

 

 

_I closed my eyes even though I knew very well how inappropriate it was._

_I slowly counted from ten downwards._

Ten.

_I wished Clifford was here to go and get me a cup of hot milk with honey. He would know that I needed it right now._

Nine.

_All my efforts to be considered mature had been meaningless. They had been a sheer waste of time._

Eight.

_First the thing about Barrington, and now_ that _._

Seven.

_I had done everything wrongly._

Six.

_I was a failure._

Five.

_First I could not even do... I could not even..._

Four.

_And now I was failing again._

Three.

_What would all the previous Watchdogs think of me?_

Two.

_Not even my fencing helped._

One.

_I needed Kamden._

Zero.

_I opened my eyes._

 

 

There was pure sadness lying in the Queen's eyes and when she reached out to inappropriately hold Cloudia's hand, Cloudia nearly burst into tears.

 

 

_She would indeed go down in history as a wonderful queen, and her children would definitely adore their kind mother._

 

 

“I... I...” She wanted to say something, but for the first time in her entire life, she stuttered and the words slipped from her grip.

“It is fine, Lady Cloudia,” Victoria whispered, her voice gentle and warm. “I am sorry for pushing so many things at you at once.”

“It... It is okay,” Cloudia said, her voice low and without strength. “I can handle this.”

“I wished I could do anything against it.”

Cloudia shook her head. “No. You... You have done enough already, Your Majesty. It was me who was not doing anything.” She shook her head again and a bitter chuckle escaped her lips.

 

 

_I really wasted my time with pointless stuff. It was like I had never really done anything at all._

 

_I really_ was _a failure, wasn't I?_

 

 

It was silent for a brief moment in the Blue Drawing Room before Victoria spoke up again. “Very well,” she said. “Now, let us talk about lighter topics.

“I have thought about it and came to the conclusion that it would be better if we did not meet each other so formally. As we are going to work together for a very long time, I allow you to call me by my first name only, Cloudia.”

 

 

Wait _‒ didn't offering someone to call you solely by your given name mean that you were..._

_... that you were_ friends _?_

_No. This was a childish thought. She would never be a friend. She was my superior, my queen._

 

 

“I am honoured, Victoria,” Cloudia replied, her face like a stiff mask when she sat up straight and her eyes shone with seriousness.

 

 

_After a few more hours, I said goodbye to Victoria in a proper manner before leaving Buckingham Palace. I was driven back in a different carriage with a different coachman. But instead of being dropped out at Somerset House, I asked the coachman to let me out when we were driving past St. James's Park Lake. He was so friendly to grant me my wish. When he returned to the palace, I did not look after him._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ and I am a failure. A disgrace. A disaster.”_

 

_I walked towards the lake and gazed down into the dark water. The reflection of my pale, pale face in the water was blurred._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ and I have wasted my life up until now.”_

 

_I saw myself in the water, the sun was shining next to me but I did not care._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ and I am childish and unsuitable to be the next Watchdog.”_

 

_I put down my hood and saw my dark, dark hair with the light, light flowers._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ and someone I trust with my life since forever is a suspect in killing my father. Or being accessory to the murder.”_

 

_I ran my fingers through my hair and opened the braids. The forget-me-nots fell into my hands ‒ and I let them fall into the lake._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ and from now on, I will work to become someone different.”_

 

_I looked after the forget-me-nots which were floating away in the lake. My hair was now braided into a wreath at the back of my head._

 

_No more flowers in my hair, no more childish outbursts, no more blind trusting. No more games, no more nicknames, no more fooling around._

 

“ _My name is Cloudia Phantomhive ‒ future Countess of Phantomhive and Watchdog of the Queen. I will be the first female to hold the title in my own right, and the first one to ever become the Watchdog._

“ _Only the Queen is more powerful than me._

“ _I will not fail again. I will not be a disgrace. Neither to the Phantomhive name nor to all the previous Watchdogs. I can do this._

 

“ _I will prove it to everyone until nobody is doubting my competence anymore.”_

 

 

_It took me a very long time to return to the Sainteclare Bookstore. I did not know what time it was, but I was certain that it was already past five o'clock._ Way _past five o'clock._

_Kamden's reaction when I walked through the door of the bookstore proved that I was right._

 

_Kamden Sainteclare never dropped a book. He dropped many things, but never a book. And if he ever carried me, he would not drop me too._

_But when I stepped through the door, the book Kamden had been holding fell down to the carpet faster than Areion travelled three kilometres. The next moment – again, faster than Areion would ever be ‒ Kamden was hugging me tightly._

_He usually never did anything like this. He never dropped books. He rarely hugged me of his own accord._

 

 

“Cloudie,” Kamden whispered, his voice faint and shaky. “Cloudie, Cloudie, Cloudie...”

He did not stutter once when he spoke her name. He usually did, but right now he was saying it as fluently as everyone else. Only now, Cloudia realised that he was wearing a coat ‒ and something told her that the book he had been holding and had let fallen down was not a novel nor a textbook but a map.

Kamden had been about to leave his beloved bookstore alone to search for her all on his own.

“I am sorry,” Cloudia replied, knowing that saying these words alone would never be enough, and he held her even tighter. “I am sorry for being late. I am sorry for worrying you.”

 

 

_I sometimes caught myself imagining that, in a different world, Kamden and I truly were twins. That we would see each other and laugh and talk every single day. That we would run the bookstore with our parents and possible other siblings. That, in a different world, we would live happily and freely together._

_But this world did not exist. And the one we lived in was not a fairy tale._

_In this world, there was not something like a “happily ever after.”_

_There only was the cold and harsh truth, reality._

_In this world, I was the Watchdog to be and Kamden was a bookseller from the lower class. And someday, one of us would die, leaving the other all alone in this world._

_All alone, all empty, all uncompleted._

_Because the concept of a “happily ever after” simply did not exist in this world, and I would die and leave Kamden all by himself – without his Almost Twin, without his other piece._

_And I wished that I had never met him, so my passing would not hurt him._

_And I wished that we had been born into the other world._

_The world with the concept of a “happily ever after.”_

 

_I should not be doing this. I had promised not to be childish anymore. But Kamden... he was the only person in the entire universe I knew I could trust forever. We were bond by something similar to the red thread. He would definitely never betray me ‒ and I would never ever betray him in my life._

_He was my brother, my twin, he was my other half. My better half._

_And no matter how much I needed to change to be accepted, to be seen as an adult, to be respected, to be worthy of the title of the Watchdog and Countess, I would always be the same old Cloudia to him. To him and only to him._

 

_I hugged him back and buried my face in his chest._

_He was my safe haven, my sanctum sanctorum. And I would never allow him to get hurt or corrupted. He was the exception to my promise ‒ just like I was the exception to the rule of Watchdogs only being males._

_I would never allow to mix my Watchdog life with my life with Kamden. When I was with him I would not be the Lady, the Countess, the Watchdog ‒ I would be Cloudia. Only Cloudia. For him, I would do this exception._

_For him and only for him._

 

 

_We stood hugging each other for a while before we finally separated. Then, we helped us to get out of our cloak and coat, and when we were done Kamden took my hand led me up to his flat where we spent the rest of my stay in London on his bed, reading._

_At eight o'clock the coachman and the footman came back and Kamden was especially reluctant to let me leave. In the end, I somehow managed to convince him to stop hugging my arm ‒ he had clung onto it and refused to let go which was very unlike him – and something I could not really classify was reflected in his eyes when I said goodbye to him and left the bookstore._

 

_The way back to the Phantomhive Manor was long and tiring and when we were finally back, it was quite late._

 

 

“Dia!” Barrington cried when Cloudia stepped through the entrance. His face was shining with happiness when he saw her. She managed to reach the stairs before he could reach and hug her. Quickly, she climbed up the stairs.

 

 

_I did not know if he had really been involved in Father's murder, but I still did not feel like seeing him. After all, he had certainly kept a few pieces of information away from me: Who was Theresa Dale? Why did he not tell me that something had happened between him and Samantha? And_ what exactly _had happened between them?_

_I could understand why he did not speak about the day my father died, but why did he not talk about the other things?_

 

 

“Dee, did you have a nice day?” Barrington asked from the landing.

 

 

“ _Barrington, be honest with me – where have you been when Father died?”_

 

 

Cloudia bit her lip and stopped walking. “Yes,” she answered. “Yes, I had. Thanks for asking.”

 

 

“ _What_ happened _to you after Father died? You were thrown out of the Order of the British Empire, you got divorced from Aunt Sam...”_

 

 

“How is he?” he kept on asking. As Cloudia wanted as few persons as possible to know about Kamden's relationship to her, Barrington could not just yell his name through the hallway. “Cute as always?”

 

 

_I wanted to ask him what felt like a million questions, but I could not ask one._

_If he had really taken part in Father's murder, asking him these questions without a context could make him suspicious. If he actually was my enemy, I did not want to know what he would do if he got suspicious that I was beginning to suspect something. Especially when I considered that Barrington knew Kamden._

_Kamden was his ward, and when Barrington wasn't around me he was around him ‒ much to Kamden's annoyance as Barrington constantly tried to hug him or ruffle through his hair or anything like that. Barrington's behaviour always resulted in him either writing me or telling me in person about his misery that Kamden did not like him, and simultaneously Kamden did the same about his annoyance._

_If Barrington really was my enemy, the probability that he would hurt me through doing anything to Kamden was quite high. After all, his affection towards Kamden could also be as much of a lie as his affection towards me then._

_Starting tomorrow, I would have to thoroughly check everything Victoria had told me in all secrecy. I needed to know if Barrington and Samantha were really divorced and that he had truly hurt her. I needed to find out who Theresa Dale was and if possible why she had moved to the USA after Father's death. I needed to find out everything I could about my father's final case and Barrington's involvement ‒ and where he had been on the day Father had died. If Barrington had really helped my father in this case, there had to be a reason why he had not been at the townhouse when Mother and I had come for a visit._

 

 

“Dee? Is everything alright? You're strangely silent,” Barrington said and interrupted her thoughts. “Are you still feeling unwell, Dia?”

“No,” Cloudia answered, not turning towards him. “I just... feel a bit tired. That's all.”

And with these words, she climbed up the rest of the stairs and walked to her chambers.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To everyone who actually is stuttering and feels offended or anything like that by Kamden's portrayal - I am really sorry! I researched a bit to make his stuttering as "good" as possible, but if I still messed up and if you still feel offended, I hereby apologise to you.


	14. The Lady, Best and Worst

 

“ _Her magical birthday was not her thirteenth or sixteenth but her twelfth.”_

* * *

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1842**

 

 

_As soon as I opened my eyes this morning, I knew that today was my big day._

 

_Many important and interesting historical things had happened on April 5. For example:_

_On April 5, 1614, the famous chief’s daughter Pocahontas – also known as Matoaka and Amonute as well as Rebecca Rolfe after her conversion to Christianity and her wedding – married the tobacco planter John Rolfe at the age of seventeen or eighteen. Seven years later, the famous ship_ Mayflower _, which had transported the first Pilgrims to the States in 1620, returned from Plymouth, Massachusetts to England._

_On April 5, 1722, Jacob Roggeveen, a Dutch explorer who had lived from 1659 to 1729, discovered the Easter Island, a Chilean island and home to the 887 moai._

_On April 5, 1804, the High Possil meteorite fell in a quarry near High Possil which was located in Milton, a district of Glasgow._

_Also, I shared my birthday with Japanese Emperor Go-Fushimi, born 1288 as Tanehito; English philosopher Thomas Hobbes, born 1588; Italian mathematician and scientist Vincenzo Viviani, born 1622; and heroine of the American Revolutionary War Sybil Ludington, born 1761._

_And, of course, the best person in the entire universe and my Almost Twin, Kamden Sainteclare, born 1830._

 

_Today, Kamden and I would turn twelve years old. For other people, the twelfth birthday was an ordinary birthday, but for me, it was a very important one._

_Because from today on I would finally be free._

 

_After my father’s death, I had been harshly thrown in the so-called Phantomhive System. Under the guidance of the Royal advisers and a terrible governess, I had lived like a prisoner in my own home for the last eight years. But after Queen Victoria had decided to make me her Watchdog when I turned twelve and not sixteen like it had been originally planned, the Phantomhive System would come to its early end today._

_From today on, I would be free of the Phantomhive System – free of Agatha, free of the horrible lessons. Finally, I did not have to ask someone if I wanted to go outside. Neither the advisers nor Barrington. Today was the best day in my entire life – together with my decoration in a month which would officially make me the Queen’s Watchdog._

_I couldn’t be happier. Oh, well – yes, I could. After all, while all these things were great and wonderful and made my heart skip, I was simply overflowed with joy when I thought that Kamden would come in a few hours so that we could celebrate our birthday together._

_Jacob Roggeveen had definitely not been as happy and excited as I was right now when he had discovered the Easter Island. Not even when he had first seen the moai._

 

_Kamden Sainteclare was my most precious person in all of the possible universes. Therefore, I would protect him until the very, very end. Hence, I always sent away all my servants except Clifford for a short holiday when I invited Kamden over, so nobody would see him and thus would know about his existence._

_Unfortunately, this meant that I had to get into a corset all by myself. It was a loose and light corset, but it was still quite hard to put it on all by myself. After an hour of almost breaking my arms and memorising to send away one of the maids later than the others, I had finally managed to get in. I quickly put on a dress – pale honey yellow with dark red ribbons and lace – and walked down to have breakfast._

_Usually, I would have run downstairs, but after a very opening talk to the Queen two years ago I had stopped behaving like a child – or at least I had slowly and subtly stopped acting like a child so Barrington would not get suspicious. Now, for example, I stepped down the stairs in absolute grace and did not slide over the bannister._

 

 

“Good morning, Young Mistress,” Clifford greeted Cloudia with a small bow after she had entered the dining hall. “I wish you a happy birthday.”

“Good morning to you too, Clifford,” she replied with a delicate smile while she sat down on her chair, and he gently pushed it a bit towards the table. “And thanks.”

Before they could continue their conversation and talk about things beyond simple small talk, Barrington rushed into the dining hall. The two big doors were slammed against the walls, and his jacket fluttered because of the wind gust. His brown hair was slightly messy, and so was his moustache.

“Dia!” he cried and ran towards her, a gigantic smile on his lips and his cheeks rosy from excitement. The second he arrived by her side, Barrington hugged Cloudia as tightly as he could. “I was especially quickly, so I could tell you ‘happy birthday’ before anyone else could. Happy birthday, Dia! I cannot believe that you are already twelve years old. It’s like it was yesterday that Si got all nervous while Penelope was in the middle of the process of pressing you out of her body.”

“Barrington,” Cloudia struggled to say. “I cannot _breathe_.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, Dee,” he said and loosened the hug.

“Also, while I do not want to destroy all your dreams and hopes, unfortunately, I have to: Clifford was faster.”

Barrington held her at arm’s length and stared at her before he turned his head and stared at the butler. “Old Ted?! How could you! I trusted you! I have known you longer than you have known her, and still, you did this terrible thing to me! I thought we were _friends_!”

Cloudia sighed. “Ignore him, Clifford. I guess our early retired knight took too many of his Ridiculousness Pills today. We have to find and destroy them before he gets addicted to them.”

Barrington pouted at her. “You are so _mean_ , Dia! Just like your mother. She was also mean to me most of the time. Always making fun of me.”

“Well, if you were not the personification of a failed joke, it would be significantly harder to make fun of you, Barrington.”

“Why are you so harsh today?” he asked, his shoulders hanging down.

“I was just about to eat before you rushed in and hindered me to have breakfast. Kamden will be here in a couple of hours, and I still need to prepare a few things after breakfast. And when you continue to hinder me doing so, I cannot do the preparations. By the way – were you not supposed to pick up Kamden? Kamden who lives in London, a city approximately two hours away from Phantomhive Manor?”

“Oh. Right.” Barrington scratched his head, abashed. “I nearly forgot about that.”

Cloudia sighed again. “He is your _ward_ , Barrington, and he would definitely never forget to pick _you_ up. So, I guess you should hurry up, or he will miss his own birthday party.”

Barrington made a long face. “You’re especially mean today, Dia.”

“I am mean because I am _hungry_. You have just forced a lady to admit her hunger, so I guess you know that I am currently _starving_ because you are preventing me from eating.

“I do not want to be mean to you, but if you continue to stand around and waste my precious breakfast time, I will have to eat my hair or the chair on which I am sitting. So, now please go and get Kamden, Barrington, okay?”

 

 

_A part of me did not like saying all these things to Barrington in such a harsh tone, but, first of all, I was honestly hungry and annoyed that he had forgotten to get Kamden. Second, after the Queen had told me that Barrington was a suspect in the murder of my father I was not able to see him with the same eyes as before._

_I had spent the last two years secretly finding out if what the Queen had told me was really true. Not that I did not trust the ruler of my homeland. I simply could not believe that Barrington, of all people, could have helped to murder my father – or could have done this crime by himself._

_To my horror, everything the Queen had said to me was true: Simon Phantomhive had only had two Aristocrats of Evil – Barrington and a woman called Theresa Dale._

_Theresa Light had married a rich entrepreneur named William Dale when she had been in her early twenties. They had had a calm marriage free of any scandals which had abruptly ended in 1829 when William Dale had suddenly died. Five years prior to William’s death, his wife had become an Evil Noblewoman._

_Shortly after the Earl’s death, Theresa had moved to the USA. My father had only been dead for a couple of days when Theresa Dale had left the kingdom in what seemed to have been in a hurry as she had only taken a few things with her. Her leaving the country so quickly after Simon had died was certainly fishy – just like Victoria had said._

_Also, after a lot of research I had found out that Barrington_ had _stayed with my father at the townhouse during their final investigation, and_ had _known about my mother’s and mine visit. However, I could not find out if my father had given him some task or something like that which would explain Barrington not having been at the townhouse at the time of the murder. I had subtly asked_ Clifford _who had also been at the townhouse on that day if he knew where Barrington had been. Clifford had frowned and asked me why I wanted to know such a thing, and I had answered that it had slipped out of Constantia that Barrington had not been there even though he should have been. Constantia let often slip out information about my father’s death and was always scolded by Eleanor because of that so Clifford would not become suspicious when I told him that._

_As long as Barrington really_ hadn’t _been at the townhouse at that time, of course. Then, I would have had to act all surprised and just say that Constantia must have been mistaken._

_Unfortunately, Clifford had entrusted me that Barrington had not been there when Mother and I had arrived. He had not even been present when Father’s body had been found or when the townhouse had been filled with police officers. Barrington had only returned_ two days later _._

_Oh, and when I had said “a couple of days” earlier I had meant “two days.”_

The day Barrington had returned to the townhouse was the day Theresa Dale had vanished to the States.

 

 

After finishing breakfast, Cloudia headed down to the kitchen. Kamden did not like it when she got him presents, but as she did not want to give him nothing on his birthday she had decided to give him something which was not exactly a present. So it came that ever since they had celebrated their ninth birthday together all those years ago that Cloudia would annexe the kitchen to prepare her little gift without any help for a few days.

 

 

_In around three hours, Kamden would arrive. This was plenty of time to finish everything._

 

***

 

_Three hours later, I stood with Clifford in the entrance hall with a wide smile on my face. Kamden could arrive any minute, and I was excited to the bones. I had not seen him for weeks now, and I simply could not await to be reunited with him._

_Then, the door was opened, and Kamden entered the entrance hall. He was wearing black trousers with braces and dark shoes, a white shirt and a black jacket over it. He had brushed his hair, but it was still a bit messy, and his blue eyes were wide and anxious. In his hands, he held a little packet which had been gift-wrapped and decorated with an elegant bow. The instance Kamden’s gaze came across mine his pale face lit up, and I hurried towards him to embrace him in a hug._

 

 

“Kammie!” Cloudia exclaimed and hugged him tightly, but without damaging the packet in his hands.

Kamden leaned his head against her shoulder, unable to hug her back. “Clou-Cloudie.”

She stepped back and looked at him. One year ago, they still had been about the same height, but now, he was one head taller than her. “He... he tri-tried to hug me,” blurted it out of Kamden who nervously toyed with the bow.

Cloudia turned her head and glared at Barrington who had also entered the entrance hall. “First you forget to pick him up,” she began, and Kamden added in a whisper: “He waaas for-forty-nine minutes laaate.”

“You let Kamden wait for forty-nine minutes although you know fairly well how fast he starts to panic – he probably thought I died, and you were busy burying my corpse.”

“I-I did,” Kamden mumbled and buried his face in the collar of his jacket. Cloudia nodded. “See? You let Kamden wait, and he started to panic – _on his birthday_. And then you even tried to _hug_ him even though you are very well aware of the fact that he does not like to be hugged by anyone else than Blodwen or me on occasions.” She blinked at Barrington. “Is everything okay with you, Barrington?”

Barrington took a deep breath and ran one hand through his brown hair. He was in his late thirties, but sometimes he looked way older – like now. His face was grey, his moustache slightly messy and his eyes were sunken. He did not look like thirty-eight but like fifty-eight.

 

 

Why did I not notice this at breakfast? _I thought, and a nasty voice at the back of my head answered:_ Because you are slowly starting not to care about him anymore. Who would care about the potential murderer of your father?

_I felt something tearing at my heart._

 

 

“I am, Dia,” Barrington answered with a hoarse voice.

“I don’t believe you,” Cloudia firmly said. “Kam does not either.” Kamden, who had positioned himself next to his Almost Twin, nodded.

“Is it about my father?” Cloudia asked, and Barrington flinched a bit. “I know that he will be eight years dead soon, but you have never behaved like that before. So there has to be something else bothering you too, right?”

All of a sudden, Barrington stepped towards Cloudia and hugged her tightly. She could feel him taking a deep breath and his body shaking a bit, his heart beating a bit too fast.

“I am fine,” he said with a firm voice. “You don’t need to worry about me, Dee.” He stepped back from her and smiled, putting his hand on her head. “You and Kamden are the stars of today, so you don’t need to think about me. I am fine after all.”

Then, Barrington was suddenly back to being the noisy and always joking person he usually was. He clapped his hands and grinned. “It is your birthday! Dia, Kamden – sorry that I tried to hug you, but you are just _too_ cute – everyone wants to hug you! Let the birthday banquet begin! And the gift exchange! I got you two absolutely stunning gifts – but I won’t tell you what they are now! It’s a secret. S-E-C-R-E-T. But I will tell you that there is a 100% guarantee that my presents will make you happier than some drug – please promise me that you kids will never do drugs, they are bad stuff, opium’s the worst.”

He turned to Clifford. “Old Ted, would you be so kind to take Kamden’s jacket and the present in his hands? He will only destroy it if he keeps toying with it.” Clifford bowed and wordlessly headed to Kamden to take his coat and present. In the meantime, Barrington turned to Cloudia. “Please take Kamden’s hand.” She frowned, but still did it. Kamden threw an anxious glance at her, silently asking if Barrington had been the one doing drugs lately. Cloudia smirked a bit and shook her head although she was not certain about it. Perhaps he was _indeed_ taking Ridiculousness Pills? Then, Barrington took Cloudia’s hand and dragged her after him – and she dragged Kamden after herself.

“Up to the dining room!” Barrington yelled and pointed in the direction of the dining room, leading Kamden and Cloudia there while giggling like a little child.

 

 

_Sometimes I wondered why my father had befriended Barrington of all people._

 

***

 

_Shortly afterwards, Barrington, Kamden and I sat at the large table in the dining room. Kamden sat next to me, and Barrington opposite from us._

_Clifford and the cook had prepared quite a lot of desserts yesterday: There was sponge cake, squash, apple pie with ice cream or custard, gooseberry and cherry fool, bread and butter pudding, treacle tart, Queen of Puddings and lemon meringue pie. Kamden’s eyes widened when he saw all these sweets. My Almost Twin had a very sweet tooth and, while he always seemed calm and collected, he was internally dying of waiting for it being time for dessert whenever we ate together._

_I stood up and excused myself, hurrying to the kitchen where I carefully grabbed my present and carried it back to the dining room. Clifford, Barrington, and Kamden followed me with their eyes when I put down my present in the middle of the table and theatrically lifted the bowl with which I had covered it._

_Kamden’s eyes shone like two gigantic sapphires in the sunlight when he saw what had been hiding underneath the bowl: A big chocolate and pear charlotte with currants and strawberries on top._

_Charlotte russe was a dessert which had been invented by Marie-Antoine_ _Carême, a French chef. The cake had been named after the late Princess Charlotte, the Princess of_ _Wales, and Czar Alexander of Russia._

_It had taken a very long time to make the charlotte as I had to struggle with quite a lot of problems. For example, the ladyfingers had kept falling down during the early stages. But, in the end, everything had turned out well._

_I always baked Kamden a cake for our birthday_ _–_ _he did not want me to spend money for him as he wanted to stand on his own feet so that I had decided to learn how to make cakes and pies, so I could give them to him. At first, my cakes had been clumsily made_ _– cooking having never been part of my curriculum –, but Kamden had still liked them. In the last couple of years, I had practised and practised and improved so much that I didn’t have to fear to accidentally poison Kamden anymore at least._

 

 

Kamden stood up and tightly hugged his Almost Twin, and Cloudia happily returned it. He did not have to say anything; his action said more than a million words. Kamden rarely hugged or simply touched others, not even Cloudia. It was her who initiated hugs and hands-holding.

They parted, and Kamden pulled out her chair and slowly pushed it back when she sat on it. Then, he returned to his own seat and Clifford appeared to cut the cake.

 

 

_Usually, you mixed a coin and a thimble into the batter of the birthday cake. Finding the coin in your piece of cake meant that you would become a wealthy person, finding the thimble would leave you single forever._

_I had not put any of these things, coin and thimble, into the charlotte because neither Kamden nor I could understand the sense behind such traditions. There was another birthday tradition we were not very fond of, but because we had already decided not to do the coin-and-thimble-thing, Barrington had forced us to keep at least the other tradition._

_The other tradition was the “bumps.” The “bumps” was some kind of terrible game in which your friends lift you up in the air – some held your hands, some your feet – and raised you up and down for each year you had already spent on earth, then “one for luck, two for luck and three for the old man’s coconut.” It was absolutely horrifying, and the “old man’s coconut” part was one of the most puzzling things on the entire planet, no, in the entire_ universe _. Why should you get lifted three extra times for some coconut belonging to an old man? Was this coconut, perhaps, a particularly sadistic coconut? Or could it be that the coconut and, or the old man had invented this terrible thing called “bumps”?_

_When I had turned seven, Barrington did it the first time to me, and I, the Watchdog-to-be, had been terrified. Ten times of getting lifted up and down had completely horrified me to the point that I had wished not to get even more lifts in the following years. Kamden hated the “bumps” even more than I did if this was even possible, and I was quite certain that he was secretly trying to hunt down the coconut and the old man in his free time._

_The “bumps” was the only thing in the entire world which could turn me into a little, screaming girl. And no matter how often Barrington told us that he only insisted on it “because we needed to do things normal children did from time to time,” I did not believe him as I was certain that he actually insisted on it because he wanted to see something funny. He had been an Evil Nobleman once after all._

 

 

Clifford finished to cut the cake and gave everyone a slice of it. When he was done, he put the knife down and positioned himself again in the shadows.

“Come eat with us, Clifford,” Cloudia invited him with a smile. “You’re basically a family member after all.”

Clifford bowed. “Thank you for the invitation, Young Lady.”

 

 

_He had called me that ever since I had asked him never to call me “Young Mistress” again._

 

 

The old butler seated himself next to Barrington who smiled broadly. “Now, only Penelope and Grace have to come down, and we’re complete.”

 

 

_Grace Nullings was my mother’s maid and the only person who got to see her daily. I sometimes caught myself envying her._

_Actually, I had caught myself envying her all day long today as my mother did not come out of her room like she had done it when I had been invited to Victoria’s wedding, although it was one of my most important birthdays today._

_Or perhaps even_ the _most important one._

 

 

Suddenly, Kamden uncharacteristically _glared_ at Barrington which resulted in every present person becoming utterly shocked. They all stared at him, even Cloudia who could not believe what her twin had just done.

“L... Let us start eat-eating,” Kamden said and even though he had stuttered, his voice had been so icy nobody dared to say anything against it. After a brief second in which they were still completely bewildered, Barrington, Clifford, and Cloudia wordlessly returned to normal and started to eat their slices of charlotte – a circumstance which seemed to please Kamden.

 

***

 

After everything had been eaten, and everyone was full and not able to move properly anymore, Barrington clapped his hands together and smiled.

“It’s time for the presents!” he exclaimed happily as if it was his birthday or Christmas. He quickly stood up and ran out of the room.

“Do you have a clue what Barrington will give us, Kam?” Cloudia asked her twin who shook his head.

 

 

_Barrington was someone who gave people absurdly terrible gifts. Sometimes, I wondered if he did it on purpose to tease us, or if he was dead serious with his presents._

_Last year, Barrington had got Kam a weirdly shaped mug – we were both sure that Barrington had made it himself – and me the ugliest scarf in the entire universe. The colours of the scarf did not match very well, tiny dancing unicorns were on it, and it itched quite badly when you wore it. Kamden only struggled to drink from the mug when Barrington was visiting him, and I had sacrificed the well-being of my neck last winter for making Barrington happy by wearing this abomination._

_I turned the Phantomhive ring on my finger like I always did when I was thinking, nervous, excited or upset. Actually, I was not allowed to wear it, but the ring made me feel more secure. Thus I wore it despite the prohibition._

 

 

“Happy birthday, ward kiddo!” Barrington screamed when he re-entered the dining room with a brilliant grin and a clumsily wrapped present in his hands which he gave to Kamden while happily singing: “Happy birthday, little ward, you may not be a lord, but you are still adored. Happy birthday, little ward, you may have never won an award, but you will never be ignored. Happy birthday, little ward, I like it that you have never snored. Happy birthday, little ward, should I take you to a fjord so it can be explored? Ha-”

“We have already understood that you know an awful lot of words rhyming with ‘ward,’” Cloudia interrupted him.

He smiled at her. “I spent exactly five minutes making a list of rhyme words to ‘ward,’” Barrington proudly told Cloudia and the others. “Then, I went to spend another glorious five minutes to find rhyme words to ‘Cloudia,’ but, unfortunately, there aren’t many, so there’s no song for you, Dee. Sorry.”

“I can live with that.”

“Are you sure? I can still write you one after you’ve changed your name to something which is more... ‘rhymeable.’ Like ‘Stella’ or ‘Mary.’”

“Like I’ve said – I can absolutely live without it.”

“Absolutely?”

 

 

_He was sillier than usual, but he was not feeling very well today for some reason, so I decided just to play along._

 

 

“Absolutely.”

“Totally and really absolutely, Cloudia?”

“Totally and really absolutely, Barrington.”

He grinned at her before he turned his attention back to Kamden again. “Come, ward kiddo, open your present.”

Cloudia could see the subtle uneasiness in her twin’s face when he slowly and carefully unwrapped his present. Behind the orange wrapping paper with the silly bunny faces printed on it appeared a packet from a bakery which Kamden opened and revealed a big loaf of bara brith.

Bara brith was a sweet bread made with either yeast or self-raising flour and contained dried fruits and mixed spices. Traditionally, it was flavoured with tea and was also perfect to eat during tea time. The bread’s name, bara brith, was Welsh and simply meant “speckled bread.” Kamden had fallen in love with bara brith the first time a crumb of it had touched his lips – an event which had happened around four years ago – and, of course, his eyes widened upon seeing the loaf.

Barrington grinned like a Cheshire cat. “I am glad that you like it, Kamden,” he said happily. “And, by the way, I’ve sent twenty loaves to your bookstore earlier. Or did you assume that I would only get you _one single loaf_?”

For the second time today, Kamden Sainteclare behaved completely different than he usually did. He put down his present, stood up and went to Barrington _to hug him_. It nearly drove Barrington to tears.

After Kamden had hugged Barrington for exactly one minute, he stepped back and returned to his seat.

 

 

_I still could not believe that Barrington had managed to give Kamden a present which was not a total disaster. Or that Kamden had hugged him in return. Had the world gone insane? Apparently._

_Perhaps, Barrington would give me something absolutely dreadful like socks, which had once belonged to his sister and which he had found in some dirty, dark corner of his house some days ago, to bring back the world’s order. However, he did not show the slightest inclination to give me_ anything _. Instead, Barrington’s grin grew even wider – it surprised me that it did not cut his head into two unsymmetrical halves – and he asked Clifford to get a carriage ready and Kamden and me to grab our coats._

 

_***_

 

_Fifteen minutes later, Barrington, Kamden and me were sitting in a carriage and were travelling towards St. Lacey. Neither Kamden nor I knew why Barrington would want to take us to St. Lacey. Sure, St. Lacey was a nice little village with approximately two hundred inhabitants, but I could still see no reason why Barrington would put Kamden’s and my birthday party on hold to get there._

 

_Barrington stopped the carriage in front of a small café called “Santagracia,” and we got out._

 

 

“What are we doing here?” Cloudia asked Barrington when they had entered the café and greeted the owner, Mateo. While they walked through Santagracia, the café’s guests greeted Cloudia and happily waved at her, and she responded to it. St. Lacey had been under the protection of the Phantomhive family for centuries, and thus the villagers were always very friendly to Cloudia when they met. They had been devastated when Simon had died, and Penelope had locked herself up. That their “princess” had also been imprisoned in Phantomhive Manor had not pleased the villagers. But now, Cloudia was sometimes able to go to St. Lacey which made the villagers extremely happy, although they were still sad about the fate of their patron and his wife.

“I reserved a table here,” Barrington answered Cloudia while he kept on grinning.

“But we have just eaten at the manor,” Cloudia stated, confused. “We could have had the birthday banquet here if you had told us about the reservation beforehand...” She lowered her voice and whispered: “Or are you the witch from _Hansel and Gretel_?”

He chuckled and continued to walk towards a table at the very back of the café. The instance they arrived there, Cloudia noticed that two partly disguised persons, a man, and a woman, were already sitting at the table which Barrington had seemingly reserved for them. Cloudia frowned, but when she realised _who_ these persons actually were, she had to put her hands over her mouth to suppress a scream.

Amused by her and Kamden’s reaction – his eyes had slightly widened when he had realised it too –, Barrington smiled at them before he put his attention towards the man and the woman who had stopped their conversation and were now looking at them.

“Thank you very much again for coming,” Barrington said before he lowered his voice. “Mr and Mrs Dickens.”

 

 

_I_ loved _Charles Dickens’ works. I had loved them ever since I had first read_ Sketches of London No. 14 _, now_ The Four Sisters _, which was one of the_ Sketches by Boz _. My love for his works would never fade away, not even if the world crumbled away; and nothing would ever replace his works as my favourites._

_Of course, I did not tell anyone, not even Kamden, about my absolute and eternal love for Dickens and his works. If he had not been eighteen years my senior and I the Watchdog, I would have tried to get him to marry me. Kamden, Barrington and everyone else thought that I just really liked his books, not that I was insanely in love with them._

_Kam, who owned a bookstore, had read thousands of books and Dickens was still one of his favourite authors. He had more favourites, and more who came in his personal ranking list before Dickens, and he might not be as passionate as I was when it came to Dickens, but Kam was still very excited to meet him. Albeit it was hard to make out._

_I had actually thought that Charles Dickens and his wife Catherine were still in America as they had gone there in January and had planned to return to England in June. But, apparently, Barrington had used some of the influence he had left as the former Head of the British Knights to contact Dickens and ask him to end his journey in Baltimore and come back to England for the birthday of Kamden and me._

_I would have turned into a hyperactive rabbit if I had not been a Phantomhive, the next Watchdog, and if Barrington had not been on the list of suspects who could have murdered my father._

 

_I wished that he would make it easier for me to hate him._

 

 

“You’re welcome, Sir Barrington,” Charles Dickens, a young man with dark hair which had been pinned up a bit and hid underneath a large hat, and dark, friendly eyes, said. “A friend of my father-in-law is a friend of mine after all.” He grinned. “Besides, the trip was fairly exhausting with people turning on the streets every time I passed by. Overall, I was more disappointed in the country than amazed. Thus, I am quite glad to be finally back in England.”

 

 

Wait _– Barrington knew George Hogarth?!_

 

 

Charles Dickens turned to Cloudia and Kamden and smiled at them. “You must be Lady Cloudia Phantomhive and Mr Kamden Sainteclare. My wife and I are very pleased to meet you.” To confirm her husband’s words, Catherine Dickens gave them a radiant smile.

Kamden glanced briefly at his Almost Twins, but it was enough for her to understand what he wanted to tell her. Cloudia took his hand and pulled herself together in order not to start screaming or, worse, _squeaking_.

“The pleasure is all ours,” Cloudia firmly said, and Kamden nodded.

 

 

I was talking to Charles Dickens! _I could not believe it!_

 

 

Barrington, Cloudia and Kamden sat down at the table and ordered something to drink from Mateo. Charles and Catherine had already ordered some things while they had waited for them to arrive.

“Sir Barrington let us know that today was your birthday,” Catherine said to Kamden and Cloudia. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Mrs Dickens,” Cloudia replied politely and Kamden nodded.

“Just call me ‘Kate.’ If you keep calling me like that, people could take notice of it.”

“And be free to call me ‘Charles’ then,” Charles Dickens said before he eyed Kamden and Cloudia. “You look a lot alike,” he remarked. “Are you related to each other?”

“No, we are not,” Cloudia answered him. “Due to some odd cosmic force, Kam and I were born with the exact same colours on the exact same day of the exact same year. We are only a couple of minutes apart. It all happened by one of the biggest chances I know. Another one is that our two little worlds managed to collide somehow, bringing us together.”

Charles laughed, and Cloudia really had to struggle not to grin like an idiot.

“Oh, and before I forget to say it: You can call us just by our first names too. You can even drop the ‘Sir’ in front of Barrington’s name.” Cloudia said.

“And what if I want them to use my title when addressing me?” Barrington protested.

“Do you really want that, Barrington?”

“No,” he admitted. “But I would like to know what would happen if I really did insist on it.”

“Well then, Barrington,” Cloudia told him, “we would have to ignore you all day long.”

“You’re mean, Dia,” he said, and she simply shrugged, making the Dickens’ chuckle softly.

“I really do not regret ending our trip in Baltimore,” Charles stated. “Do you, Kate?”

She smiled and shook her head. Her curls were flung through the air. “Not at all, dear.”

Charles turned his attention to Kamden. “Are you not feeling well, my boy, or why have you not said a word ever since you arrived?”

With wide eyes, Kamden looked at Cloudia who grabbed his hand again and silently asked him if it was okay to say what she wanted to say. He nodded slowly. “He is a bit embarrassed to speak,” she answered Charles’ question, “because he has a stutter.”

Charles smiled warmly at Kamden. “But that is nothing to be ashamed of, boy,” he meant. “Do you know my friend Charles West? He is a physician specialised in paediatrics and obstetrics. I am not certain if he is able to help you, but if you ever feel like your stutter is only causing you problems, and you want to make it come to an end, I could contact him for you. He is currently working at the Universal Dispensary for Children in London, so it is not that far away from St. Lacey.”

Kamden’s eyes widened a tiny little bit. “Tha-thank you, sir,” he said which made Charles’ smile grow wider. “This... this is veeery ben-benevolent of you.”

“And Kamden is even living in London,” Cloudia added and tightened her grip on Kamden’s hand under the table.

“Oh, really? Where exactly do you live, Kamden?”

“Sou-South Ken-Kensington.”

“The hospital is located in Waterloo. It is not that far away. You have to cross the Thames though. So if you want to make an appointment with West, just contact me. Your guardian knows how.”

“Oh, right,” Cloudia said and looked at Barrington. “How do you know George Hogarth, Barrington?”

“Mr Hogarth is amongst others a music critic. When he still worked for _The Harmonicon_ , he often went to the Royal Opera House to see the operas and the plays.” Barrington grinned. “You know, Dee, the same Royal Opera House your father frequently visited ever since 1826 because of...”

“Mother!” exclaimed Cloudia and turned the ring on her finger. “So, George Hogarth also knows my parents?”

He nodded. “Yes, he does.”

“Right,” Catherine Dickens said. “Your mother is Penelope Phantomhive, right?”

“Yes, she is,” Cloudia answered.

“I remember accompanying my father to one of her shows,” Catherine continued. “I think it was in 1827 when I was twelve? I am not sure. I only know that her performance was flawless even though I cannot remember who she even played.”

“Was your... your jour-journey to Am-America truuuly as aw-awful as you have sta-stated?” Kamden wanted to know, changing the topic.

“It was indeed, boy,” Charles responded. “For example, slavery still exists there which is very, _very_ horrible. Kate and I went to Richmond to see it at first-hand; and as if the fact that slavery is still existing is not bad enough, the slaves’ conditions are awful as they are treated terribly by their masters. The attitude of these people towards slavery is horrifying, and there are newspaper accounts everywhere about runaway slaves who were disfigured by their masters. But the Americans do not only attack their slaves, but they also attack everything and everyone with guns and knives. The USA is a country of violence, and if you ever decided to go there, children, I advise you to stick to cities like Boston. Boston was one of the American cities we actually enjoyed.

“I took a lot of notes during our trip and plan to turn them into a book. If everything goes well, it could even come out later this year. Ah, come to think of it,” Charles gazed at Kamden, “there is a bookstore in South Kensington called Sainteclare – is it just coincidence or does the store belong to your family?”

“It beeelongs to my fam-family,” Kamden replied.

“Good to know. I have come across it a few times but never entered it – if I had, we would have met way earlier. I think I should definitely go there someday.”

“Yes, you should,” Cloudia said while nodding. “Kam’s bookstore is very beautiful and charming as it is so small. You will love it.”

Charles laughed. “I’m sure you are right, Cloudia.”

She smiled and asked: “So the next book you will publish will be a travelogue. Do you already have plans for other future books of yours?”

“Oh, of course.” He chuckled. “My brain is full of ideas, and there is one particular idea which I think is one of my greatest, perhaps even _the_ greatest of them all. I cannot wait to put it to paper. Speaking of books...” Charles turned around and grabbed a paper bag. He put it on the table and got out a copy of _Oliver Twist_. Then, he searched for something in his pockets.

“Kate?” Charles asked. “Do you happen to have a pen with you?”

Catherine shook her head. “I am sorry, Darling, I don’t.”

“Can I help?” Barrington said and handed Charles a pen, grinning.

“Thank you,” Charles replied while taking it, and he opened the copy of _Oliver Twist_.

“You’re welcome.” Barrington leaned back, still grinning broadly.

“Cloudia,” Charles said with a smile on his lips. “Barrington told me you are fond of my books?”

 

 

“Fond? _Fond?_ I am absolutely and insanely in love with them. The stars may fade away one day, but your books will always have a special place in my heart,” _I wanted to say, but decided against it._

 

 

“I am,” Cloudia said instead, turning the blue ring.

“So, does it mean that I am right in the assumption that you are already in possession of a copy of _Oliver Twist_?”

She nodded. “I bought it on the release day.”

“And that this exact copy is not signed and that you would like it to be?” Charles wrote something inside the book and handed it to her. Cloudia’s eyes widened. “I am sorry, Cloudia, but as I guess that you do not have your copy with you, can I simply give you a new, signed one instead of signing the copy you already have?”

“Yes, of course,” she almost screamed and took the book, holding it tightly against her chest. “Thank you, thank you very much. I cannot thank you enough. Thank you, thank you...”

Charles laughed. “No need to thank me, Cloudia.”

 

 

_I had not only met Charles Dickens – he had even given me a signed book!_

_Was I dreaming? If yes, I would like to stay in this dream forever._

 

But you can’t _, the nasty little voice in my head said._ You can’t run away from the reality where your father was most likely murdered by his best friend who is sitting right next to you.

Cloudia, you are sitting next to a potential murderer. To the man who could have taken everything away from you. To the man responsible for your mother’s state, for your misery.

Imagine. If he had not taken your father away from you, the manor would still be filled with joy. You would have never met Agatha and had to say goodbye to Mabel, Nelson and the others. You would possibly have little siblings, and your parents would have taken in Kamden. And there would be no void in your head which could suck you inside of it.

But this man has made it impossible for you to be happy again. This is the reality, and you should never run away from it.

Because you would only run in vain.

 

 

Charles turned to Kamden, while Cloudia was pushing away the words of the nasty voice but it still spoke silently to her at the back of her head. _Cloudia, Cloudia, Cloudia, you cannot run away from the demons of reality..._

“Of course, Kate and I did not forget you, Kamden.” Charles reached into the paper bag again and got out a bag which he gave to Kamden who took it and bowed his head in gratitude. “Barrington told us that you prefer getting sweets,” Charles continued. “Therefore, we got you some American sweets. I hope you like them.”

“Thaaaank you ve-very much,” Kamden said politely.

 

 

_We talked with Mr and Mrs Dickens about everything we could think of in the following hours. They told us more about America, and Barrington also told us a few stories about this place. Apparently, he had made a journey around the world in 1825._

_Kamden told Mr and Mrs Dickens about his bookstore and about Wales, and I told them about fencing after Barrington had addressed it. It was fun, and we wished that we could have talked even more, but the time eventually came for us to go. Kamden, Barrington and I had to return to the manor, and the Dickens’ had to return to their little children who were awaiting them in London._

_We said goodbye and went our own ways._

 

_I held_ Oliver Twist _tightly against my body when we drove back to Phantomhive Manor. My heart beat fast against the hard paper._

 

***

 

Cloudia started to laugh uncontrollably as soon as they stepped out of the carriage. The sky above them was dark, and here and there stars shone faintly when Cloudia’s laughter echoed through the cold night’s air and through the forest of darkness surrounding them.

Kamden watched his twin with wide eyes until Cloudia suddenly embraced him in a tight hug, still laughing, still holding _Oliver Twist_. With warmth running through his body and a smile appearing on his lips, Kamden hugged her back. The Almost Twins held onto each other while they walked towards the manor’s entrance, Cloudia still radiating with happiness like Barrington and Kamden had not seen it for a very long time.

The instance they stepped over the doorsill of Phantomhive Manor, Cloudia’s angelic laugh ebbed away as if it had never been there in the first place.

 

 

They had a very light dinner, considering that they had eaten so much in the past hours. Cloudia had put her new copy of _Oliver Twist_ in a safe right after they had come back. It was only temporary, of course. Such beauty should not be locked away in a dark place after all.

Now, she was sitting with the others in the dining hall again, eating soup. The day had been great, the day had been fun, but now in the evening, the dark thoughts Cloudia had pushed back when they had been Santagracia had returned. This time, intenser than ever. The nasty voice hammered against her head and wanted attention, causing Cloudia’s head to start hurting badly. _Ask him_ , the voice demanded indispensably. _Ask him about everything. You have every right in the world to know._ Cloudia fought against it, but, eventually, she could not stand it anymore and put down her spoon.

“Barrington?” she said, and he looked up. “What is the matter, Dee?”

“Why were you travelling around the world in 1825? Were you not already an Aristocrat of Evil at that time?”

 

 

“ _Why were you not there on the day Father died? Were you not supposed to be by his side?”_

 

 

Barrington’s eyes widened for a split second. “Yes, I was already an Evil Nobleman at that time, but I had still left Simon alone for over half a year because I wanted to learn martial arts in the countries they originated from.”

“And which martial art did you learn in the east coast of the USA?”

 

 

“ _Why did you come back two days later? And why did Theresa Dale disappear to America on the same day?”_

 

 

“None,” Barrington answered, frowning. “I went there to visit one of my cousins. Why do you want to know all these things anyway, Dee?”

 

 

“ _Because I have to make sure that you are not the murderer of my father.”_

 

 

“Because you never mentioned this trip to me before,” Cloudia replied.

Barrington laughed. “You sound like a jealous fiancée or wife, Dee.”

 

 

“ _Speaking of wife – what happened to Samantha and you?”_

 

 

“Actually,” Cloudia added bitterly, “you never tell me _anything_. For example, you never tell me anything about my father.”

His eyes widened. “De-”

She glared at him. “Every time I ask you of him, you only tell me general things which could apply to _anyone_ like ‘He was really nice’ or ‘He was a good man,’ or you avoid my question. You never tell me anything specific. No matter how often I ask you.”

“Dee – what got into you?”

“ _What got into me?_ ” Cloudia stood up. Her legs were shaking, but nobody could see it because of the table. _Good, good, go on_ , said the nasty, stupid, annoying voice. Cloudia did not want to obey the voice – today was Kamden’s and her birthday, and Barrington was not feeling very well because of some reason –, but she still did. “Soon, Father will be dead for _eight years_. Almost eight years have passed, and still, nobody knows who murdered him. I am just saying that we would have found out who the culprit has been if you had told me more about my father. Or are you hiding anything from me?”

 

 

_I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t cry. Not right now. Not in front of them._

 

 

“Cloudia, you know wh...,” Barrington started, but she interrupted him again.

“Because Aunt Eleanor said so? Because some stupid Zounderkite of a physician said so?” Cloudia clenched her fists. “Neither Eleanor nor some doctor, especially not you, have the right to decide this. It is _my_ right. Mine and mine alone. I am twelve years old now. I am old enough to make decisions. Goddammit, I will be the _Watchdog_ soon, Barrington. I am not the helpless, little child which I had been on that day anymore. I have grown up. I am strong enough to know the truth.”

Barrington rose up from his chair too, letting it fall over and startling Kamden who had already begun to feel very, _very_ uncomfortable.

“You do not know what you are saying,” Barrington replied. “I _saw_ you back then. At Simon’s funeral. I’ve heard about everything from Eleanor. I don’t want to see you like that ever again, Dia. Nobody wants to. Please understand that.”

“I can handle it,” Cloudia meant, clenching her fists tighter.

He shook his head. “No, you can’t. You are still not old, still not strong enough. You still have the a...”

“I DO NOT CARE,” she yelled, and Kamden covered his ears. “I DO NOT CARE ABOUT THAT. I DON’T CARE IF I’M TRAPPED FOR WEEKS OR EVEN MONTHS AND YEARS.”

Barrington started to walk around the table. “Cloudia, please understand it, we only want the best for you. Because we love you.”

Cloudia jerked back. “No,” she replied, her voice full of bitterness. “No, you don’t. If you would, you would not keep any secrets from me.” Then, she turned around and ran out of the dining hall.

 

 

_If the Royal adviser had seen me, the girl who would become the Watchdog some time in the next few months, behaving like an emotionally unstable brat, they would have given up everything they possessed to make sure that my decoration would never happen._

 

_I ran through the manor until I found an entrance to the secret passages which ran through the entire building. Blindly, I walked through the secret passages and left them randomly. Then, I kept hurrying through the mansion until I somehow arrived in the gallery._

 

 

The gallery was a place in the back area where paintings of every Phantomhive decorated the walls. Cloudia lit up the huge room, and golden light illuminated every nook and cranny. The walls had been painted with a pale golden tone, and faint white patterns trailed over the walls. The paintings, however, were mostly of a darker colour and the frames were always made of dark wood, wherefore the walls and the paintings contrasted intensely with one another.

Cloudia walked through the hall and noticed that while nobody usually entered the gallery, everything was free of dust. She crossed a picture of Bartholomew Phantomhive whose blue eyes, which were even darker than hers, stared right at her. He had had blond hair, and Cloudia had always been fascinated by the fact that Phantomhives had had blond hair until Octavius Phantomhive had married black-haired Florence Kingston. She had always associated her family with darker colours – perhaps this was also connected to the circumstance that her grandfather, her father and she herself had pitch black hair.

She continued to walk through the gallery and saw portraits of Ellis, Caterina and Aurelia Phantomhive and many others among the traditional paintings of the family head, his wife and the head butler. For example, there was a picture of her grandparents, Percival and Genevieve, together with Percival’s butler Waylon Poole. Eventually, Cloudia stopped in front of a painting which she knew very well.

It was one of her father, Simon Phantomhive.

In the years after Penelope had locked herself up shortly after the funeral, Cloudia had come here as often as she could. She had stood in front of the painting for hours and had done nothing else but to stare at it.

She could not remember her father’s face; and even when she looked at a picture of him and knew that the man in the picture was her father, his face did not reappear in her memories. Cloudia had made a mental note of Simon’s face on the painting, of every feature of his which had been immortalised in paint, but the huge grey area in her memories still wouldn’t get filled. It was as if her father had never really existed at all.

The last time, Cloudia had been here she had not even been six years old. She had often had little attacks while staring at the picture for too long, but it had never stopped her to go there. But when Cloudia had gone to the gallery a few weeks before turning six, the attack she had experienced had been one of her worst. Nothing had happened in months, and everyone had thought that she had finally got well again, but then she had had this relapse...

Ever since that day, Cloudia had not been allowed to enter the gallery.

Now, she was gazing up again at the picture of Simon Phantomhive, and it was as it had always been. Her father was sitting in a simple chair in the middle of a strange, round room with many high windows. The light was coming through the windows and shone right at Simon. He wore dark clothes, and his black hair was messy. And while he was looking to the front, Simon’s eyes were unfocused. Also, even though the light was illuminated him, his green eyes were blank. Besides him and the chair, there was nothing else in the room.

Cloudia had always wondered who had drawn this picture, but the painter’s signature was so messy that she could only make out the initials: H.P.

For a few seconds, Cloudia looked at the painting before taking a deep breath, her heart racing in her chest, and speaking up: “Hello, Father.”

 

 

_This was incredibly childish of me, and thus it was another reason why the Royal advisers would simply shake their heads at me if they had seen me right now. After all, I was talking to an_ image _of all things._

 

 

“Long time no see,” Cloudia said, clutching her shaking hands together and not taking off her gaze once from her father’s face. “Father, I turned twelve years old today. Mother is still locked up in her chambers. She did not even come out to congratulate me.” She paused. Her headache from earlier had slowly got stronger. “A letter from the royal house is expected to be sent to us in the next few days. It will contain the fixed date for my decoration. In about a month, I will officially succeed you as the Head of the Phantomhive family and as the Watchdog.”

She slowly breathed in and out, but her chest started to hurt with every breath and her heart beat faster. “I am celebrating my birthday with Clifford, Kamden and Barrington. Barrington took Kamden and me to meet Charles Dickens and his wife. It was amazing.”

Cloudia held her head while trying to catch her breath. She felt dizzy from the headache. “But... But I cannot ignore the fact that Barrington was not at the townhouse on the day you were killed even though he should have been. And this fact won’t let me forget it. All I can think of is that he could have murdered you. Or that he could have been involved at least. Barrington was your best friend, and he helped me so much in the last six years, but I still cannot let go of this thought and trust him unconditionally.” Cloudia ran a hand over her face. Now, she could barely see the painting, only Simon’s green eyes were clear to her. “Or Theresa Dale. She had gone to America on the same day Barrington had come to the townhouse – two days after your death.” She put one hand on her chest. It hurt so much now. Blurry pictures started to fill Cloudia’s head. Pictures which had appeared to her so often, but which she still could not see clearly.

“How terrible it would be if two persons you have trusted so much had helped to plot or execute your death.

“My aunts, my uncles, Barrington... They do not want to tell me anything about you or about that day. I wish so desperately that they would be honest to me, so we would finally know who the culprit was,” Cloudia managed to say before she collapsed. However, she did not fall to the ground but right into two arms.

 

 

_I was locked up again. The same place, the same time. I looked around, but I could see nothing. Everything was too blurry to make out. Only a green light was clear to me._

 

 

When Cloudia woke up, she still could not see very clearly, and she was still feeling like being on fire.

 

 

Where am I? _I thought._

 

 

“Gla-Gladdy?” Cloudia heard someone call her. There was only one person in the entire world who called her that and it was...

 

 

Kamden _. Kamden was sitting on the ground of the gallery – I could now remember that I had gone to the gallery earlier –, and I was lying in his arms. His hair was even more dishevelled than usual, and his skin looked paler. Worry laid heavily like a dark cloud in Kamden’s eyes._

 

 

“Kammie?” Cloudia struggled to say, her voice rough. Kamden buried his face in her hair and held her tighter. “Gla-Gladdy, Gla-Gladdy...,” he repeated like a mantra to stay sane. “You aare all ri-right...”

She wanted to say something, but no words left her mouth.

“It... it is all ri-right,” Kamden said as if he had read her mind and held her a bit away from him. “You need to, to re-rest.” He leaned her against a wall and took off his jacket which he put around her body.

“I am sorry, Kamden,” it finally blurted out of Cloudia. Every word still hurt, but she had to say all these things now. “I am sorry for yelling at dinner although I know very well that you hate it when it’s loud. I am sorry for attacking Barrington today of all days. I am sorry for you having seen me like this today. I am sorry for ruining your birthday...” For the first time in forever, tears glittered in Cloudia’s eyes before they silently ran down her cheeks.

 

 

_I could not remember the last time I had cried. I only knew that I had never cried after meeting Kamden. And it did not matter if I had started to cry because of my physical and emotional condition right now. Tears were still running uncontrollably down my cheeks._

 

 

Without a word, Kamden brushed away her tears even though he must have been shaken by the sight of his strong sister crying. Then, he took her hand and squeezed it.

“Can... can I lea-leave you for a wh... while?” Kamden asked her. That the thought of having to leave for even a second while Cloudia was in this state did not please him was obvious.

She nodded weakly and Kamden leaned forward to kiss her forehead. He quickly squeezed her hand once again before standing up and hurrying out of the gallery.

A few minutes later, Kamden came back with a cup of hot milk and honey, and to Cloudia’s relief, he was alone. She did not want Clifford or Barrington to see her right now too. Especially not Barrington.

He sat down next to Cloudia and gave her the cup, but when Kamden saw her shaking hands, he held the cup against her mouth so she could drink. When she was done, he put the cup on the ground, leaned against the wall and hugged her from the side. Then, Kamden put his head on her shoulder.

“You di-did nooot ru... ruin any-anything. I... I am hap-happy that we cou-could spend the daay to-together.” He dug his fingers in her clothes and pulled her closer, not caring that her body was still hot and shaking. Cloudia leaned her head against his while her tears kept ruining quietly.

 

 

_On the next day, the Queen’s letter arrived._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to the length of the thirteenth chapter, I decided to split it into two. In the first part, Cloudia and Kamden celebrate their 12th birthday. In the second, there will be the actual, titular decoration(s). Actually, I wanted to keep the birthday part as short as possible, but, then, I had more and more ideas, and it somehow turned quite long (over 10,000 words).


	15. Halloween Special: The Green Ghost of Nephelius Cemetery - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's late! I didn't have any time yesterday to complete it >.<
> 
> Happy Belated Halloween! Hope you'll enjoy the extra! :D

_**The Countess, First Encounter** _

* * *

_“Ghosts come out on All Hallows’ Eve...”_

* * *

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – October 1847**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_It was Sunday, but not a normal Sunday – today was All Hallows’ Eve, also known as Halloween. And like every Halloween, I had got the day off. For decades, I asked to get Halloween off, and I always did._

_Usually, I would spend my regular free day baking bone-shaped biscuits from morning to evening and playing chess with myself while waiting for them to get done. However, at the beginning of this year, I had made a deal with Cloudia Phantomhive, the Queen’s Watchdog, and because she was a funny person I decided to visit her today. But not before I baked three baking sheets of biscuits and played twelve rounds of chess._

 

_***_

 

_With a tote bag containing some of my still warm biscuits, I walked through St. Lacey, the village closest to Phantomhive Manor._

_When I had gone to the mansion, Cloudia had not been there. Her butler, Alfred Newman, had kindly told me that she had gone to St. Lacey at sunrise. The village was under the protection of the Phantomhive family for a very long time, and for example on All Hallows’ Eve, the current family head was obliged to prepare a party at the manor. Today’s festivities would not start until seven o’clock in the evening, but the servants at the manor had already been very busy and nervous when I had arrived there, running to the garden and back into the building again and again. That the family head, Cloudia, would run off to St. Lacey, while everybody else was working hard, seemed odd to me. But then, it was Cloudia I was talking about._

 

_The wind was blowing through the balding tree crowns, shaking their branches and leaves in all shades of red, orange, brown, and yellow. The inhabitants of St. Lacey were happily decorating their houses and doing their respective works. Children were running around playing, and talking about the party at the manor to which everybody was looking forward._

_The village was filled with laughter and positivity, an enormous contrast to the atmosphere of Phantomhive Manor. I had to remember to come here more often._

 

_I found Cloudia sitting in a plain dark dress and wrapped in a thick coat by the entrance of Nephelius Cemetery. She was leaning against an old tree without any leaves left which hid her from the eyes of the villagers. Cloudia was staring into the distance, seemingly deep in thought when I slowly and silently approached her. I wondered what she was thinking._

 

 

“Hello, Countess,” Cedric Rossdale greeted Cloudia, breaking her out of her thoughts. She gazed up at him, her dark blue eyes glowing on this grey October day. Her eyes looked out of place in this world of gold, brown, and grey.

“Oh, it’s you,” Cloudia replied.

Cedric raised an eyebrow. “Did you expect anyone else?”

“I thought that, perhaps, the village children found me at last.”

“Or Alfred,” he added, and she shook her head. “Newman never calls me ‘Countess.’”

He sat down next to her and handed her the tote bag which she took. “Good Alfred entrusted me that you went to St. Lacey right after sunrise. He also told me that you only ate very few for breakfast and because it is already noon, I thought that you would like to eat something before you starve yourself to death. At least, we would not have to inconveniently transport you to bury you.” Cedric grinned at her. Cloudia ignored him and opened the bag. “These biscuits again?” she said, but still put one of them into her mouth and started eating.

“Of course,” Cedric replied. “I would only be half the undead man I am without my signature bone-shaped biscuits.”

“Signature _dog_ biscuits, you mean.”

Cedric sighed. “These are _my special house-made biscuits for humans and Reapers_. How often do I have to tell you that until you finally understand it?”

“You told me that _once_ before. And that was in Wales, and I was bed-ridden.”

“That it was in Wales, and you were bed-ridden is not an explanation for your poor learning ability, Countess.”

“You should get another biscuit cutter,” Cloudia meant, but Cedric shook his head. “That would destroy my image of the ‘brilliant man with the bone-shaped biscuits,’” he said, and she raised one of her eyebrows. “Besides,” Cedric continued before she could make a snarky remark, “I think that you and these biscuits fit _perfectly_ together, Watchdog.”

Cloudia flipped her fingers against Cedric’s nose and glared at him. He grinned at her and rubbed his nose.

“Now, tell me, Countess,” he started, picking up a fallen leaf and crushing it between his fingers, “what are you doing here?”

She sighed. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I am waiting for someone. It’s a long story.”

“I have time,” Cedric meant. “You can tell it to me. So... for who are you waiting?”

Cloudia looked into the distance again, avoiding to meet Cedric’s gaze. “Well... I am not quite sure if I am waiting for _‘_ _someone_ _’_ or _‘_ _something_. _’_ ”

He frowned. “Wait – _what?_ The great Watchdog, the fabulous Countess of Phantomhive, does not know for who or what she is waiting?”

Cloudia glared at him. “I met a... well... _presence_ here when I was twelve. I did not encounter it ever since that day, but I still keep coming to the cemetery on every Halloween.”

“That’s a bit hard to understand,” Cedric meant. “You encountered something here many years ago, and you have no clue if it’s a person or a thing?”

She sighed. “Seems like I _do_ have to tell you the whole story,” Cloudia mumbled.

 

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – October 1842**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_Phantomhive Manor had been built in the sixteenth century. Simultaneously, a small village had been founded a few kilometres South from the mansion. Bartholomew Phantomhive, the first of his family to ever live in Phantomhive Manor, had put the village under his protection in 1573. And because the Phantomhive family also governs practitioners of agriculture, the village mostly consists of farmers, and as Halloween encompasses the Harvest Festival, there was an annual Halloween celebration at the manor._

_However, because I, the last Phantomhive, had been locked up in the manor for the past eight years, there had not been a celebration. Therefore, my family and Barrington had helped me with the preparations as I had had no idea how Halloween had once been celebrated at the mansion, and also because we had had to prepare the best party we could._

_We had spent almost_ a month _with the preparations. And when the big day, today, October 31, finally came, we all cheered._

_Traditionally, the party was held in the manor’s garden, but for this year we had blocked the road from Phantomhive Manor to St. Lacey as we had planned to celebrate first in St. Lacey and later head with a parade to the manor where a big bonfire would be lit. Then, the celebration would continue at the mansion, St. Lacey_ and _on the street connecting these two places._

_Together with the villagers, we had made scary floats. My cook Jean-Luc Armstrong, Clifford, Felicity, and the Morrow servants had cooked traditional Irish Halloween dishes like Colcannon – a dish made with boiled potatoes, curly kale, and raw onions – or Barm brack – a sweet bread with sultanas and raisins – for the buffet. Coins, pieces of rag, peas, sticks, or rings would be baked into the Barm brack. Getting a piece of rag in your slice meant that your financial future would be doubtful or that you would have back luck in the future. A coin meant a prosperous year, peas indicated that you would not get married that year, a stick meant that you would have an unhappy marriage, and a ring stood for an impending romance or continued happiness. Coins wrapped in baking paper would also be put into the potatoes of the Colcannon. However, finding a coin or not did not have any deeper meaning than when you found a coin or something else in the Barm brack. Apart from these Irish dishes, Felicity, Armstrong, and the Morrow servants had also made things like pies and other dishes._

_Ceara and Keegan had shown us, Constantia, Clarissa and me, and the village kids how to carve frightening faces into turnips or mangelwurzels, and how to hollow them, turning them into jack-o’-lanterns. Jonathan and Aiden had organised a scavenger hunt through the forest for the children, Barrington and Isidore had been in charge of the games, and Joanna, Cathleen, Celeste and some village women and children had made the decoration while Eleanor had supervised everything. I had helped wherever I was needed – the floats, the lanterns, the food, the hunt, etc. –, but my main task had been_ to get everyone dressed _. Seriously. I had teamed up with Wilbur Hopkins – the Phantomhive family tailor – not to get a suitable dress for myself but my family, Barrington_ and all the villagers _too._

_It had taken us_ days _– all thanks to Eleanor and her_ wonderful _idea to give everyone,_ really everyone _, nice clothing for the party – to measure everyone, and a few more days to design the clothes. Then, Wilbur and his shop had tailored and tailored like maniacs. At some point, he had even taught_ me _how to sew so that I could help._

_We had worked and worked without real pauses. I had not really had time to sleep properly, and my headache had come back, but I had still worked as much as everyone else too because I did not want my attacks to control my life._

_And now,_ finally _, it was October 31._

 

_In a few hours, the most memorable Phantomhive Halloween party would start. I couldn’t await it, but it was such a pity that Kamden could not be there as he was visiting someone in Wales._

 

***

 

One of Cloudia’s maids, Janine, arranged her mistress’ dress for the last time before Cloudia would go to St. Lacey. After Cloudia’s decoration in May, she had fired every member of her household who had been sent to her by King William IV in 1834 and hired new servants. However, after firing Jonalyn she had not appointed a new personal maid. Thus, the maid who was available at the moment had to help Cloudia to get dressed and coiffed.

Her family was already in St. Lacey. Everyone waited for Cloudia, the Phantomhive family head, to arrive although the villagers did not know that. For them, she was only the “substitute family head” because “the Earl” could not come. However, they were still quite pleased with the fact that Cloudia would lead everything as she was the daughter of their beloved, late lord _–_ Earl Simon Phantomhive.

At five o’clock in the evening, Cloudia, just like planned, went to St. Lacey, only accompanied by Clifford. Twenty minutes later, they arrived, and Cloudia had ten minutes to go through her speech one last time before going up to the stage. When she was done, everyone applauded, and it was time for the parade.

Cloudia climbed onto the Phantomhive float, the leading float. It was a huge thing in blue, grey, and black, decorated with dead flowers and the family emblem, but also scary, deformed faces graced the float. Cloudia’s family members were also on the float, and the instance Cloudia stood on it, Constantia surprised her with a hug.

“Lulu!” she yelled. “Everything looks so _great_! _Everyone_ looks so great! You and Mr Hopkins did _such_ a good job with the clothes!”

Cloudia freed herself from her cousin’s embrace. “Didn’t I tell you to stop calling me that?”

 

 

_When we had been little, Constantia called me “Clou-Lou,” but over the years, “Clou-Lou” had transformed into “Lulu.” It was the worst nickname I had._

 

 

Constantia giggled. “But why? I called you that for years now.”

“Because _we have grown up_ , Constantia,” Cloudia replied, annoyed. “Also, I am _the Watchdog_ now.”

Her cousin blinked at her. “And that should be a reason not to call you ‘Lulu’ anymore?”

Cloudia nodded. “Yes.”

Constantia ignored her and tapped Celeste, the father’s sickly ward, on the shoulder. Celeste flinched and squeaked before she turned to face her elder adoptive sister. “Lessie!” Constantia said. “Don’t you think that Lulu’s clothes are marvellous?”

Celeste nodded shyly. “They are, indeed.”

 

 

_Constantia had stupid nicknames for_ every one of us _._

_She called me “Lulu,” Celeste “Lessie,” Clarissa “Lare,” Cathleen “Leen” or “Leena,” Ceara “Ara,” and Keegan “_ Ganny _.” Nobody else but Constantia used these highly ridiculous nicknames. I was quite sure that my cousin fell on her head when she had been an infant._

 

 

Cloudia smiled at Celeste. “I am glad that you like them,” she said. “And I am so sorry that your dress turned out to be a bit too big for you. It was an accident.”

 

 

_I wasn’t sorry, and it hadn’t been an accident. I was me after all._

 

 

Celeste nodded again. “This can happen. I am not angry at you. You had to make so many clothes in such a short time. Of course, mistakes can happen then.”

Cloudia’s smile turned a tiny, little bit sweeter. “Thank you for your kind words, Celeste, but now I have to go to my position.” She turned around and quickly left. Out of all her cousins, Cloudia could stand them the less.

The parade started and they left the beautifully with self-made jack-o’-lanterns lit and with sculptures and puppets of monsters like kelpies, ghosts, evil faeries, skeletons, and corpses decorated village for the similarly decorated Phantomhive Manor.

 

 

_The parade was fun. Everything went as it should and everyone arrived safely at the manor._

_For the past eight years, Phantomhive Manor had been closed for visitors. Therefore, I had to dramatically and ceremonially “open” the manor’s entrance door – although we would only celebrate in the garden – via cutting a ribbon with a huge bow with gigantic scissors shaped like bones. It was All Hallows’ Eve after all._

_When that was done, everyone went to the garden where some of my servants had prepared a huge bonfire which I had to ignite. Only then, the actual party was opened._

 

_The next hour, I spent my valuable time with playing silly games like carving wheat flour. Barrington had even annoyed me so long that I had eventually given in to his request to play a round of “bobbing for apples.” Of course, I had thrown the fished apple at his head when nobody had been looking._

_At around seven o’clock, Constantia assembled me and the rest of us to get a slice of Barm brack for each of us._

_Cathleen and Constantia found a coin in their slices, Keegan, Clarissa, and Celeste got peas, Ceara got a stick, and when I was almost sure that my slice did not contain any of these extra things, I bit into a_ ring _. For a few minutes, I simply stared at the little ring in my hand in utter shock and puzzlement, but just like the coin, the peas, the stick, and the piece of rag nobody of us got, the ring was actually meaningless. After all, why should a silly stick in Ceara’s slice mean that she, an eleven-year-old girl, would end in an unhappy marriage in at least ten years? Or that I, a twelve-year-old and_ very busy _girl, would fall in love in the next few months? Also, a stupid coin could never decide if your year would be prosperous or not. Of course, Constantia and Cathleen could have good years, but they could also have a terrible year with the same chance. The only thing which_ somehow _fit was the pea. After all, Clarissa, Keegan, and Celeste were simply too young to get married next year._

_However, the actual meaninglessness of these objects and the fact that they were only there for fun, did not stop Constantia to hug and congratulate me._

_Seriously – who had even invented this silly game? And couldn’t Eleanor and Isidore have raised Constantia in a different way?_

 

 

“You got a ring, I see!” Barrington yelled when he saw Cloudia holding the tiny object in her hand after pealing off Constantia.

 

 

_I internally sighed. Constantia and now Barrington? Really?_

 

 

Barrington grinned at Cloudia. “I hope you know what that means.”

“Of course, I do,” she replied, scowling at him.

“And I hope that you also know that I won’t allow you to enter a romantic relationship until you’re not _at least_ forty-four.”

“I assure you that you don’t have to worry about me having a ‘ _romantic relationship_.’ Also, even if this impossible scenario ever happened, I doubt that you would have to decide on it.”

He laughed and gave Cloudia a pat on the back. “Your father also used to say that he would never fall in love or marry. Then, Si met your mother and he fell so hard for her that he was even shocked at himself. Also, you’re still so young, Dia. You can never know where your heart will lead you.”

“Yes!” Constantia exclaimed. “You can never know what will await you in the future.”

 

 

_And why did we have to participate in this ridiculous Barm brack fortune telling game, then, dear Constantia?_

 

 

“Or do you think that Romeo and Juliet knew from the very beginning what would await them?” she continued.

“ _The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet_ is a _tragedy_ ,” Cloudia replied, her voice dripping with annoyance. “It’s about not falling in love too easily and rushing everything. Also, Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are over-dramatic _idiots_ who do not even know what love actually is. They barely knew each other and already wanted to get married! Juliet was _thirteen_! Romeo could have been a crazy ax-murderer – oh, wait, he _did_ murder Tybalt, his wife’s cousin! No matter if Tybalt was a villain, a maniac or not, he still was like a brother to Juliet!”

Constantia, who had turned bright red during Cloudia’s little speech, furiously screamed: “And what do _you_ know about love?” A second after the words had escaped her mouth, Constantia put her hands on her mouth, but the damage had already been done and could never be undone.

 

 

_I did not care if what I wanted to do was appropriate for a Watchdog or not. I had enough of this. I had enough of Constantia. Constantia who knew_ very well _how delicate this exact topic was for me._

 

“I am only telling you all this, Lady Cloudia, because I do not want you to get hurt. The less you open yourself up to others, the more likely it is that you will not get hurt. I hope you understand that _,_ ” _I remembered Her Majesty’s words._

_I should have never told Constantia when we had been children that I doubted that anyone could ever love me, that_ my parents _had ever loved me, because, now, she knew too well that this was one of my weak points._

_I hated her. I hated myself for having told her something like that. For still getting affected by that. Stupid, stupid, Cloudia..._

 

 

Cloudia had just wanted to turn around and run into the manor – hide in the secret passages where nobody would ever find her –, when Cathleen suddenly grabbed her arm, stopping her.

“Cloudia,” she said in her sweet, soothing voice, letting go of Cloudia’s arm. “Connie did not intend to hurt you. Right, Connie?”

Constantia nodded. “I am so, so sorry, L... Cloudia! I should have never said that. I knew that I shouldn’t have, and I am sorry that I still did.” She wanted to give her cousin an apologetic hug, but Cloudia pushed her away with so much force that Constantia almost fell backwards into the buffet standing a few metres away.

“Yes, you still did it,” Cloudia snapped at Constantia. “You still did it even though you knew that you shouldn’t – and that is the _only_ thing which matters.”

“Dia, are you not a little bit too harsh...,” Barrington began, but Cloudia quickly whirled towards him and cut him off. “‘A little bit too harsh’?” She chuckled bitterly. “Of course, _I_ am the harsh one after Lady Matthews here said that I could have _no idea_ of love because I had never experienced love and never will because my father died and I have no memory of him anymore, my mother locked herself away and does not want to see me, and because I did not only grow up completely isolated from the world, bound to a gruesome system and a dreadful governess, but also with _liars_.” Cloudia rubbed her temples. “If _I_ am the harsh one, I guess that _I_ should also be the one to apologise, right? Sorry, everyone, for having me as a relative.”

With these words, she turned around on her heels and quickly walked away.

 

 

_Hopefully, the villagers had not noticed my outburst. I was their lady after all._

 

_Oh,_ dammit _. Who was I kidding? There was_ no way _that nobody had noticed anything. We had simply been too loud._

 

 

***

 

 

“Are you all right, Cloudia?” Isidore asked.

Cloudia had hidden in the labyrinth of tall hedges which had been blocked for the celebration because small children could easily get lost in there. This meant that it was the perfect place to hide. But, of course, Isidore had still managed to find her. Before Barrington had become Cloudia’s fencing teacher, she had travelled twice with Eleanor, Isidore, and Constantia. These had been the only two times when she had gone outside in these two dark, dark years of her life. Isidore and she had grown close because of that – and, sometimes, she had even caught herself wondering if Simon had been anything like Isidore as Isidore was such a good father. _Of course_ , he would know where to find her. For a very brief time, Isidore Matthews had been like the father she had long forgotten.

But just like her happy days, this had been a very long time ago.

Isidore sat down next to Cloudia on the bench.

“Connie told me everything,” he started when she wouldn’t answer. “She really didn’t want to hurt you, Cloudia. You know Connie – she often says things she does not actually mean. It happens on accident.”

“I don’t care,” Cloudia mumbled and hugged her legs even tighter against her body. She didn’t even know how long she had been sitting here like that. Perhaps, the Halloween party was already long over without her having noticed it.

“Cloudia – there had never been a person more important in the lives of Simon and Penelope than you,” Isidore continued to talk after a while of silence. “Penelope locked herself away because she could not deal with the sudden loss of her husband. She did not lock herself up because of you. And she is only so reluctant to see you because she does not want you to see her in her current state.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Cloudia replied, trying to make her voice not sound too whiny. “She left me all alone to the Phantomhive System – her confused _four-year-old_ daughter without any memories.”

“Penelope had her reasons, Cloudia.”

“I do not care about her reasons. She _abandoned_ me. Sometimes, I wish that she would have just died alongside my father. It would not have hurt as much as knowing that she is living in the same building as you but refuses to come out or let you in.” Cloudia gazed up at Isidore. “I can see you struggling with yourself if you should tell me a heartwarming story of my parents and me from the past I forgot or not, deciding not to betray your wife through breaking her sacred rule. That’s so obvious – even _I_ can see that.

“Don’t do it. I don’t want to hear a detailed story about my parents’ apparent undying love for me. It could make me want for more. Also, that’s not worth betraying Aunt Ella.”

Isidore smiled sadly at his niece. “It is good to know that even after everything you had to go through, you haven’t changed at the core. You still possess all the goodness you have inherited from your parents. You should always hold on to this part of you.”

Cloudia did not say anything to that, and Isidore wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to him. If he had not been Isidore, she would have never allowed that.

“I may not tell a story about Simon and Penelope, but I can tell you a story Simon entrusted me a long time ago. It’s a Halloween story, so it’s quite fitting.

“When Percival Phantomhive was still the Earl, Simon had once headed to St. Lacey during a Halloween party. He sneaked away and went to the village all on his own through the forest. But because most villagers were at the celebration, there were only a few people in St. Lacey when he arrived. Simon did not care about it and walked through the almost empty village – until he came to Nephelius Cemetery.

“Nephelius Cemetery is the oldest cemetery of St. Lacey. It was built during the time of Bartholomew Phantomhive. It is a beautiful place in its own eerie way, but some decades ago, the villagers stopped to use this graveyard and built a new one on the other side of St. Lacey. For some reason, they abandoned it, and nobody ever entered the cemetery again. Not even relatives of people buried there. And thus, with time, Nephelius Cemetery became overgrown by plants.

“Simon still entered the cemetery, though. And after a while of walking around, he encountered a ghost.”

“A ghost?” Cloudia frowned and brushed one of her braids out of her face. Today, her hair was mostly open and only two streaks – one right, one left of her face – had been braided.

Isidore nodded. “That’s what he told me. He saw a ghost in Nephelius Cemetery when he was a child. Afterwards, he returned every single year to see if the ghost was still there.”

“And was it?”

“Yes, it was. As if it had waited for Simon, the ghost was always there when he had come on All Hallows’ Eve.”

“Do you know how the ghost looked like?”

He smiled sadly. “I am sorry, Cloudia, I don’t. Simon said that he had only seen the ghost from far away, and that, from the distance, its figure had seemed misshapen to him. But there is one thing he saw: Something green.”

“Something green?”

“Yes. Apparently, the ghost’s colour was black and green, but that is all that is known about its appearance. Sorry, Cloudia.”

She shook her head. “It’s all right. It’s not your fault. You can only know what you’ve been told, after all, Uncle Izzy. But did anybody go and check if the ghost was still there after Father’s death?”

“Barrington did – probably. I don’t really know if he did it or not, but I doubt that he did,” Isidore admitted. “We others didn’t do it either. We live in completely different places after all. But...” He smiled warmly at her and put his hand on her head. “Why don’t you do it yourself then? Aidan and Jon’s scavenger hunt will start soon. You could join it and then go to the cemetery.”

Cloudia smiled at him. “Thanks, Uncle Izzy.”

“You don’t have to thank me, Clou,” Isidore replied. “You’re my little niece after all.”

Her smile grew a tiny little bit wider.

 

 

_I would have scolded everyone else for using my old nickname, but I let him go through with it._

 

 

“By the way,” he began, “the clothing you made looks gorgeous. Just look at me – I think I never wore something fancier.”

“I worked with a _professional_ ,” Cloudia meant. “Wilbur and his assistants did most of the work. I just did terrible sketches nobody knew how to decipher. I am not made to be an artist.”

“But you sure know a lot about clothes,” Isidore pointed out.

“A bit. I am a girl after all. A girl who had nothing better to do than to read books about fashion and flowers when there was nothing else to read.”

He lovingly patted her head. “I think it’s time for the scavenger hunt. I am certain that Connie won’t allow it to begin without you.”

Cloudia rolled her eyes and stood up. “That’s Constantia how we know her.”

 

 

“ _Always annoying others,” I would have liked to add, but she was his daughter. I could not say such things about his daughter to Isidore._

 

 

“I’ll go then,” she said. “Or the village children will try throwing Constantia into the bonfire.”

Isidore turned white. “Please don’t let them do that.”

“I won’t let that happen,” Cloudia assured him.

“Thank you – and sorry for having called you ‘Clou’ earlier. I simply forgot for a moment that you don’t want to be called like that anymore. It is still so new.”

“It is fine, Uncle Izzy.” She smiled at him.

 

***

 

_Like Isidore had said it, Constantia had asked Jonathan and Aidan to keep the scavenger hunt on hold until I joined them._

_My uncles happily greeted me and gave me a basket and an envelope, telling me that the envelope contained a note with a riddle I had to solve in order to know where I had to go to find my first item. There were thirteen items in total to collect on your hunt. Only three people had the same note and thus the same hunt. And because only three children had the same hunt, every individual quest had its own thirteen items to collect. Those three with the same beginning note formed a team. The team who returned first after getting every item from every one of their thirteen stations would win a special, secret prize._

_Jonathan and Aidan had surely put a lot of effort into a simple scavenger hunt._

 

_They announced that the hunt would now officially start and everyone eagerly opened their envelopes and searched for those with the same task._

_My note read:_ “My leaves are poisonous for horses, cattle, and sheep. But my nuts can be eaten by domestic pigs. And I stand all lonely in-between my friends of different names.”

_Seriously? That was easy, but was it also easy for other children? Or were there different levels of difficulty? After all, there were quite a lot of little children participating..._

_But if they had put that much effort into this game, I guessed that they had also thought of this. Maybe, they had drawn pictures on the notes for the little children._

_Whatever. Now, I had to find my teammates..._

 

 

“Howdy, La-,” a voice greeted her, but before the greeting could be finished, Cloudia whirled around and hit his arm.

“What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?”

Thomas Holmwood scowled at her and rubbed his arm. “It’s pointless.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

 

 

_Thomas Holmwood was an annoying fourteen-year-old boy from St. Lacey who knew_ very much _about animals, especially horses. Some months ago, he had come to my manor and asked to become my new stable-lad during my exchange of servants._

 

 

Thomas glanced at Cloudia’s note and sighed. “Oh, no. Seems like we’re on the same team, Lady.” He held his own note to her. It had the same riddle on it.

Cloudia sighed too. “Of course, I had to get sorted into the same team with something as annoying as you. Do you have a clue who’s Number Three? Don’t tell me it’s Lily or Matt.”

 

 

_Lily and Matt were two sixteen-year-olds from St. Lacey. They and a girl named Emma had been best friends, inseparable and outright annoying. Nobody had thought that they could get even more annoying._

_Well, everyone had been wrong._

_Eventually, Matt had begun to court Lily – much to Emma’s dismay because_ she _had also liked him. Their trio had broken up, and now, the village had to endure this disgusting young couple who had never heard anything of “etiquette.” For them, the word “appropriate” did not exist in their dictionary._

_I swore that if I heard them calling each other by silly pet names like “Chocolate Muffin” and “Honey-Bunny” again that I would vomit on them._

 

 

Thomas shuddered when he heard their names. “I hope not! You’re worse enough, Lady. At least, you being in my group means that I don’t have to team up with _both_ of them. I would start a protest. Revolution! Petition to exile Matt and Lily from St. Lacey!”

Cloudia grinned. “Please do the petition.”

“You’re the lady of the land.” He briefly grinned at her, and she punched him again. “Can’t you banish them?”

She shook her head. “I would love to. But I’m afraid, I can’t.”

Thomas sighed. “Then, I will have to do the petition when I see them in the woods _again_. I am marked for life, Lady. _Marked for life_.”

“Hello,” someone greeted them, and Cloudia and Thomas turned to the voice’s source. In front of them stood a little girl with auburn hair and tanned skin. She had icy blue eyes and a stern look on her face.

 

 

_Strange... she didn’t wear one of the clothes Wilbur and I had created._

 

 

“I am Ilex Galloan. The card in my envelope says ‘My leaves are poisonous for horses, cattle, and sheep. But my nuts can be eaten by domestic pigs. And I stand all lonely in-between my friends of different names,’” the little girl recited perfectly. “Do you happen to have the same riddle as I?”

Cloudia nodded. “Yes. We three make a team then. I am Cl...”

“I know your names,” the girl, Ilex Galloan, interrupted Cloudia. “You are Cloudia Phantomhive, the lady of Phantomhive Manor, and this is Thomas Holmwood. I memorised all the names of every inhabitant of St. Lacey and Phantomhive Manor.”

Thomas stared at her, his brain not able to process the circumstance that a little girl could talk like that. “Wait a minute... how old are you? Four? Five?”

Ilex glared at him with her icy blue eyes. “I am _nine_. And no, you do not need to call for my parents and find out if I got lost. After all, I did not go lost – I never did and never will, I have a phenomenal sense of orientation –, and I am sure that the search for my parents will only overstrain your easily countable brain cells.”

Cloudia chuckled, and Thomas continued to stare at Ilex with a wide open mouth.

 

 

_Why had I never met this girl before?_

 

 

“Do not mind Thomas,” Cloudia told Ilex. “He’s an idiot who only cares about horses and worms. Everything else is too much for his brain to handle.”

Ilex nodded. “I guessed so.”

“Can I call you ‘Ilex’? You can call me ‘Cloudia’ then. You do not have to use my title. It’s too bothersome.”

“Of course, you can, Cloudia.” The little girl blinked at her, and for a small moment, Ilex looked really adorable. Then, she smiled and every drop of adorableness was washed away as her smile was vampire-like.

“I know everyone in the village,” Cloudia said, “but I never met you before. Did you and your family move to St. Lacey only recently?”

“Yes. We moved here today.”

“ _Today?!_ ” Thomas exclaimed who had just managed to break free from his state of shock only to get shocked again. “You moved here today and _already know everyone’s names_?”

Ilex rolled her eyes. Cloudia liked her more and more with every second. “My parents heard of the celebration and suggested that I could go there. And because my alternative was to help to unpack, I went to the party and decided to participate in the scavenger hunt. Baron Woodward and the Viscount of Wellington wanted to give me an envelope for the _lowest level of difficulty_. I had to talk to them a bit until they gave me one for the highest level. The puzzle is still a joke, though. ‘My leaves are poisonous for horses, cattle, and sheep. But my nuts can be eaten by domestic pigs. And I stand all lonely in-between my friends of different names.’ My little brother Orion could solve it, and he is _three_.”

Cloudia shrugged. “We cannot help it, Ilex.”

“If Horse Boy here managed to solve the riddle, the hunt is nothing but a big joke for intellect.” Ilex turned to Thomas. “Horse Boy, tell me – what is the solution to the first riddle?”

“An oak, of course!” Thomas answered immediately and his dark brown eyes shone. “Never give oak leaves to horses!”

Ilex sighed. “See, Cloudia? Even Horse Boy knows the answer. Today, nobody’s brain capacities will be brought to its maximum.”

“Who do you call ‘Horse Boy’?” Thomas said.

“You. I called you that three times in total. You even reacted to it like a dog to its name.”

Sulking, Thomas turned away from the girls, mumbling something to himself which sounded like: “Lily and Matt and their eternal touching would have been more endurable.”

“Is there an oak which stands all on its own somewhere?” Ilex asked Cloudia who nodded. “Yes. I know exactly where it is. Thomas! Come and stop crying! All the others have already started their hunts!”

 

 

_Just like Ilex had said: To solve the riddles, you did not really have to use your brain._

_When we arrived at the oak tree, we found another envelope. There were two notes in there this time – one congratulating us and saying that we had to pick up an acorn as our first item, and one containing our next riddle._

 

 

“‘I am shy of the light, but when it fades I shine. My seeds, leaves, and roots can be used as medicine. I am originally from North America,’” Cloudia read aloud. “That’s simple. It’s the...”

“Evening Primrose,” Ilex and she said synchronously, and Ilex grinned like a vampire again. “Where is the next meadow with evening primroses?” she asked.

 

 

_We went to the meadow which shone beautifully in yellow. This time, we had to pick up one of the primroses._

 

_The cards and the riddles guided us through the entire forest. We had to pick up more plants or tiny objects hidden like bells or bracelets at the wanted places._

 

_And, then, the thirteenth and last puzzle came._

 

 

“‘I am a terrible beauty entangled in ivy,’” Cloudia read to Thomas and Ilex. “‘Fallen from the light, forever I am bound to the earth. My kin abandoned me. My kin fears me. I am the matter of their darkest dreams.’”

“Uh,” Thomas said. “That’s a tough one. Any idea, Galloan?”

With wide eyes, Ilex gazed at Cloudia. She had never seemed more like a child. “What should that mean?”

“Oh, no.” Thomas ran his hands through his brown hair. “Doomsday has come! Little Galloan has no clue!”

Ilex kicked him in the shin and then looked at Cloudia again. “Do you have an idea, Cloudia?”

She frowned at the piece of paper in her hands. Unlike the other riddles, this one had been written on normal stationery rather than fancy cards. Also, the writing did not look like the writing of Aidan or Jonathan.

 

 

_Someone had exchanged the real puzzle with another one. But how did they know about the hunt and the stations? Had they followed Jonathan and Aidan while they had prepared everything? Or had they followed_ us _, hearing the solution to Riddle Twelve and heading to Place Thirteen before we could, quickly exchanging the riddles? But why hadn’t I noticed anything? And what should “I am a terrible beauty entangled in ivy. Fallen from the light, forever I am bound to the earth. My kin abandoned me. My kin fears me. I am the matter of their darkest dreams” mean?_

“Nephelius Cemetery is the oldest cemetery of St. Lacey _,_ ” _I suddenly recalled Isidore’s words to me._ “It was built during the time of Bartholomew Phantomhive. It is a beautiful place in its own eerie way, but some decades ago, the villagers stopped to use this graveyard and built a new one on the other side of St. Lacey. For some reason, they abandoned it, and nobody ever entered the cemetery again. Not even relatives of people buried there. And thus, with time, Nephelius Cemetery became overgrown by plants.”

_Of course. The riddle referred to Nephelius Cemetery. No. To the sculpture of an angel in Nephelius Cemetery. The “terrible beauty, fallen from the light and forever bound to the earth.”_

 

_Whoever had exchanged the puzzles wanted us to go to the old cemetery for some reason._

“Simon still entered the cemetery, though. And after a while of walking around, he encountered a ghost.”

_In my mind, I shook my head. No. Ghosts didn’t exist. My father had been mistaken. Ghosts weren’t real. And even if they were, they could not touch material things._

 

_I wondered if this was a trap, and if I could take Thomas and Ilex with me. I was the Watchdog and could defend myself, but Ilex was still a little girl and Thomas still not a fighter, despite her intellect and his confidence._

_But how could I explain the situation to them? Surely, if I told them that someone had seemingly exchanged the riddles and tried to lure us into the cemetery, they would go there to find out if I was right or not._

_But, this year, the celebration was not only held at Phantomhive Manor but in St. Lacey too. If it had been any other year, nobody or very few people would have been in the village around this time, but not today. So, I guessed, that I could take Ilex and Thomas with me. After all, if we needed help, there would be others available._

_Hopefully, I would not regret my decision._

 

 

“We have to go to Nephelius Cemetery,” Cloudia announced, and Thomas stared at her.

“ _Nephelius Cemetery?!_ Are you insane?!”

She rolled her eyes. “That’s the solution to the riddle, you idiot. ‘I am a terrible beauty entangled in ivy. Fallen from the light, forever I am bound to the earth. My kin abandoned me. My kin fears me. I am the matter of their darkest dreams.’ Nephelius Cemetery is a very beautiful place, but because it is still a cemetery, a place of death, and because it was abandoned many years ago, it’s now not as lovely as it once was and also entangled in ivy and other plants.”

Cloudia turned to Ilex who definitely needed an explanation. She didn’t know about Nephelius Cemetery after all. “Ilex, Nephelius Cemetery was the main graveyard of St. Lacey until a few decades ago. Then, it was suddenly abandoned and nobody cared about it anymore because, for some reason, everyone started to believe that the place was haunted.”

“Ah, I see.” Ilex’s face lit up. “‘My kin abandoned me. My kin fears me. I am the matter of their darkest dreams.’”

Cloudia nodded. “Yes. But the riddle does not refer to Nephelius Cemetery in general. _It refers to the statue of a fallen angel on the graveyard_. ‘Fallen from the light, forever I am bound to the earth.’”

“‘And the fifth angel blew his trumpet, and I saw a star fallen from heaven to earth, and he was given the key to the shaft of the bottomless pit.’ Revelation 9:1,” Ilex recited with a straight face and Thomas nearly fainted.

 

 

_Actually, it wasn’t very astonishing that Ilex could quote the Book of Revelation. It would have been more surprising if she couldn’t do it._

 

 

“Exactly,” Cloudia replied with a nod. “We need to find this statue.”

“Wait!” Thomas yelled and barred Cloudia and Ilex the way as they had already wanted to head to the graveyard. “We cannot go in there! It’s insane! We’re going to _die_! There’s a reason why nobody goes there anymore!”

Ilex and Cloudia rolled their eyes in unison. “Ghosts do not exist, Horse Boy,” Ilex said. “So don’t witches, elves, faeries, zombies, or any other supernatural or paranormal creatures. Everyone with a functioning brain and the right amount of rationality knows that. Or are you scared? If you are, you can always go back to the mansion. Cloudia and I are quite capable of doing this all on our own.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or don’t you think we are because were are _girls_? Then, Horse Boy, remember who is currently trembling like a leaf.

“So – are you now coming with us or do you want to keep wasting our time?”

 

***

 

_It took us a while to get to Nephelius Cemetery, and the moment we stepped through the old, rusty gate, I heard a faint chuckle in the distance._

_Could ghosts chuckle or had it just been the wind?_

 

 

“Had anyone of you been here before?” Ilex wanted to know while they walked through the dark cemetery. Because everything was overgrown and everywhere laid debris, it was fairly hard to move forward.

Cloudia shook her head. “No.” She glanced at Thomas whose eyes widened before he vehemently shook his head. In the end, he had decided to accompany them. He was still frightened to the bones, though.

“Of course not!” he exclaimed. “ _Everyone_ knows that you should not go in there. Unless you’re weary of life. Not even Donegan and Callahan who do the stupidest of things all the time, go in here as a test of courage.” Thomas audibly swallowed. “I still think that this is a bad, bad idea.”

The girls sighed. “Our knight in shining armour,” Cloudia murmured to Ilex before she said to Thomas: “Where did your overly annoying confidence vanish? And your usual manliness which makes everyone roll their eyes?”

“Ha ha, very funny, Lady,” he replied bitterly. “Just make fun of me. But if you get eaten by a werewolf, don’t cry for help.”

“Of course, we wouldn’t cry to _you_ for help. It would be like asking a horse to do the laundry.” Thomas scowled at Cloudia but she still continued to talk: “If you’re not feeling like it, you can still go back. Why did you come with us anyway?”

“Because everyone would wonder why I came back but you didn’t.”

She raised an eyebrow. “So, in the end, you came because you wanted to protect your manliness?” Cloudia stepped right in front of him and smiled wickedly. Her face looked terrifying. “Well, then, protect it in in earnest and don’t complain like a baby, Holmwood.”

Then, she turned away from Thomas who had turned white and led the way.

 

 

Around fifteen minutes later, they found the sculpture. Like the puzzle had said it, it was indeed _“_ _a terrible beauty entangled in ivy._ _”_ The once white stone had turned dark over the years and had gained numerous fissures. Parts of the angel’s face were missing, and he only had one wing. Furthermore, just like the riddle had said, the angel was almost completely entangled in ivy.

“I will look for the item, then,” Thomas said and vanished behind the stone and ivy. Ilex used the moments he was gone to whisper to Cloudia: “Who wrote the riddle? And don’t try to fool me – I know that it hadn’t been the Viscount and the Baron. The last riddle looked remarkably different than the previous twelve.”

“I have no idea,” Cloudia whispered back.

Ilex frowned. “And you still brought us here?”

Cloudia shrugged. “At first, I didn’t want you to come with me, but because there are more people in the village this year, I thought that it would be okay to take you with me. Also, I wanted to know why the Secret Someone exchanged the cards and led us here.”

 

 

_Ilex was smart. Lying to her wouldn’t work._

 

 

Ilex nodded. “I see,” she said and, then, something dark flew past them. One second later, Thomas jumped out of the bushes and screamed: “There was something! There was something! Something flew by! It was the ghost, it was t-” Ilex clicked her fingers against his forehead. “Stay calm, Horse Boy,” she said, and Thomas had already opened his mouth for a remark when something suddenly grabbed Ilex’s legs and dragged her so quickly into the wall of ivy that Ilex let go of the basket with their items, and that Cloudia and Thomas did not have any time to react.

Thomas screamed again.

Cloudia’s heart pounded in her chest.

 

 

The ghost _, I thought for a split second before I scolded myself._ The are no such things as ghosts in the world. Don’t become as paranoiac and idiotic as Thomas.

 

 

While Thomas was apparently about to water his pants, Cloudia cut through the ivy with the dagger. Together with Wilbur, she had designed a lot of clothes last month. Mostly in dark green, dark blue, black, blood red, and dark orange – Halloween colours. Her own dress was like the others – dark blue and decorated with rotten flowers, skulls, and ribbons, but unlike the other dresses, hers had pockets. Cloudia had always liked it when dresses had pockets. Mostly, because she could easily hide things in these secret, disguised pockets people usually didn’t notice. Things like the dagger and knives, though, Cloudia didn’t put these things into her pockets, but hid them in her sleeves, her petticoat, or fixed them with a special cloth around her legs. Because of that, Cloudia took out the dagger out of her sleeve.

Quickly and precisely, Cloudia cut through the ivy, but Ilex was nowhere to be seen. She stepped through the hole she had made into the wall and looked around, but around her were only more wild bushes and trees. Ilex’s drag marks even suddenly vanished in front of a bush. Like she had been teleported or vanished into thin air.

 

 

_This had certainly turned out quite weirdly._

 

_What did you want, Riddle Exchanger?_

 

 

Cloudia returned to Thomas who still stood in the same position as before.

“She’s gone,” she told him, and he started to panic. “It was the ghost, Lady! It was the ghost!”

She rolled her eyes which made Thomas furious. “Don’t roll your eyes at me! Ilex suddenly vanished! She was dragged by _something_ through the ivy! How could it be something else but a ghost?”

“Because ghosts don’t exist,” Cloudia replied, but he ignored her and put his hands in his hair. “What should we do now, Lady! Ilex was probably already eaten by the ghost. There’s not much flesh on her after all.”

“Since when do _imaginary_ ghosts _eat_ people?” Cloudia asked when she saw something flickering in the distance. Immediately, she began to run towards it.

“Don’t leave me alone!” Thomas cried and hurried after her.

Cloudia ran to the place where something had flickered, but when she arrived there was nothing. She narrowed her eyes and gazed around. It was pointless. It was too dark here to make out _anything_. By the statue, it had been relatively bright, but here she could not even see the night sky. Everywhere were tightly packed knobby trees. Heavily breathing, Thomas approached her, and she raised an eyebrow. “You need to train.”

“I am a _formidable_ runner,” he replied while gasping for air. “It’s just that I am not in the best state to run right now.”

“You mean _scared as hell_.” Even if she did not keep weapons in her pocket, Cloudia surely kept Promethean matches in them. She put one out of her dress pocket and lit it up. From one moment to the other, the cemetery did not seem as frightening anymore.

“You had _that_ with you?” Thomas asked, and Cloudia handed the match to him. “Oh, I have even more,” she replied and lit up another Promethean match.

“We need to find Ilex,” she said. “I-”

“Don’t suggest that we split up,” Thomas interrupted her, and she sighed. “ _Of course_ , we won’t split up, idiot. It is easier to attack whatever or whoever is out here when we stay together. Also, this thing or person won’t have it easy to attack _us_.” Cloudia gave him a knife which she had taken out of her other sleeve. “Take that in case we run into whoever or whatever took Ilex. Our priority is to rescue her, understood? The moment you panic and scream and cry, I will _personally murder you_. You will only hinder this mission and endanger Ilex’s life. When the right opportunity comes, I will give you a sign and you will run as fast as you can out of the graveyard and get help, understood?”

Thomas nodded, his pale face full of fear. “But what if...,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “What if Ilex is already...”

“Then, the least we can do is to bring her body back to her parents,” Cloudia firmly replied, her face deadly serious.

“I don’t want to die, Lady.”

“Then, don’t get yourself killed.”

She turned around and started to walk. “Come, we need to find Ilex.”

After a few steps, Cloudia heard a laugh and frowned. “Did you hear that?” she asked Thomas.

“Hear what?”

“The laugh. Someone just laughed – and it wasn’t you or me. Not even Ilex.”

She could hear Thomas gulp. “Can ghosts laugh?” he said, and she whirled around to face him. Her eyes glowed in the darkness. “GHOSTS DO NOT EXIST. SOMEONE _GRABBED_ ILEX, YOU ZOUNDERKITE. GHOSTS CANNOT TOUCH MATERIAL THINGS,” she yelled, and, all of a sudden, her Promethean match went out. Thomas screeched.

“That was the wind. THE WIND.”

 

 

_Seriously – why did I end up with this idiot?_

 

 

Then, something absolutely and fantastically weird happened and Cloudia blinked at Thomas.

“Why the damn hell are you _laughing_?”

Thomas giggled like a maniac, holding his belly. The knife had fallen to the ground, and so had the match which had also mysteriously gone out.

“I don’t know,” he managed to say in-between laughs and fell to the dirty ground. Tears were in his eyes.

Cloudia sighed. “Stop this nonsense and stand up.”

“This is no nonsense!” Thomas protested. “Help me! I am possessed or something.”

“GODDAMMIT, THOMAS, THE ONLY THING YOU’RE POSSESSED OF IS DUMBNESS.”

 

 

_I was so, so sure that he was only joking around. Well, at least until he was suddenly lifted into the air and vanished in the woods._

 

Hell _. What was happening? First the laughs, then Ilex, and now Thomas._

 

 

Cloudia sighed and ran a hand over her face. “I can’t believe what I’m going to do,” she mumbled to herself before straightening up and pressing her hands against her hips. “Ghost or whoever took my teammates,” she yelled into the blackness, “can you please give them back to me? It’s getting late, and if we don’t return soon, Constantia will definitely start to panic and force everyone to search for us. And you really _don’t_ want to meet Constantia – I tell you.”

Cloudia waited a few seconds, but she could only hear the wind and an owl howling.

 

 

_This was so annoying._

 

 

She ran through the cemetery, searching for Thomas, Ilex, a strange person or eidolon, but there was _nothing_. There weren’t even broken branches on paths she hadn’t used before. The wildness which had taken over Nephelius Cemetery was only thrown off balance at places Cloudia had been with the others or on her own. She really didn’t even want to _consider_ it, but only a ghost could have gone through the graveyard without destroying anything.

 

 

_This day officially hated me._

 

 

Cloudia kept walking around, her third and last Promethean match in one hand and the dagger in the other. And after what felt like hours, she saw a movement in the distance again. She sprinted towards it, eager not to let whatever was annoying her so much escape so easily this time. But when she arrived, there was only...

“Ilex?”

Tiny, little Ilex Galloan was hanging from a very high and thin tombstone. Someone had tied a rope around the top and her feet.

“Good that you come,” Ilex said. She was soaked in mud and judging from her facial expression, she was not very pleased about it. “Could you please untie me?”

Cloudia climbed on the tombstone – good that it had so many fissures. “Sorry, I cannot hoist you. I will have to cut the rope. Make sure that you fall on your buttocks.” She severed the rope and Ilex fell down, turned in the air and landed on her buttocks. Cloudia jumped from the tombstone and helped Ilex up who was scowling.

“Good that it’s so cold,” she said. “Because of that, I had to put on a lot of petticoats. Thanks to them, my bottom does not hurt very much.”

“At least something.”

“Where’s Horse Boy?”

Cloudia shrugged. “He suddenly vanished – just like you. Can you remember what happened?”

Ilex shook her head. “No. The last thing I remember was getting dragged into the ivy, and then, suddenly, I was hanging from a gravestone, covered in mud.” She looked down at herself. “I think I should go home. If I do not get washed as soon as possible, I will turn into a Mud Girl.”

 

 

_After I had brought Ilex to the cemetery’s gate, I went back in again. I still had to find Thomas after all._

 

_A few rounds around the tombstones, and I heard this damn laugh again. It was gradually driving me crazy._

 

_The search for Thomas was shorter than anticipated: He had been attached to the angel statue. I freed him, and the second his feet touched the ground, he took my hand and dragged me out of the graveyard. Right in front of the gate, I could free my hand from his grip. I stopped and he ran through the gate._

_I turned around and gazed into Nephelius Cemetery – and saw someone._

“Simon said that he had only seen the ghost from far away, and that, from the distance, its figure had seemed misshapen to him. But there is one thing he saw: Something green.”

_And here, right by the gate of Nephelius Cemetery, I saw the “something green” my father had most likely already seen all these years ago._

_Only that I now knew what it was._

_Two strange green eyes were directed at me. It was the strangest pair of eyes I had ever seen. Chartreuse and phosphorescent, shining in the night like two odd stars._

_I wanted to take a closer look at the person to whom these eyes belonged, but I had been mesmerised by this special yellow-green._

_My head hurt very badly, and the weird feeling that I had already seen such a pair of eyes before went through my body. Like keys opened doors, these eyes opened the door to my locked memories. But only a tiny, tiny bit. The same green tone flashed in front of my inner eye – the first clear thing in all the static of my past. The first piece of the great puzzle of April 1834._

 

_Before I could succumb to my headache which violently hammered against my head, and faint, a voice called me and brought me back to the present._

 

 

“Lady!” Thomas called. Cloudia blinked and briefly turned into the direction from which his voice had come from before she looked back to the cemetery, but the person was already gone. As silent as a summer breeze, he had vanished into thin air. She would have told herself that she had only hallucinated, that there had never stood a person if it had not been for the two big shoe prints in the mud and the faint giggle in the air.

“Lady!” Thomas called again, and this time, Cloudia walked towards him without looking back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will come in two weeks!
> 
> (Ilex Galloan and her brother Orion are the fictional children of two fictional characters who will never have kids together due to a lot of reasons. Who could their parents be? :) )


	16. Halloween Special: The Green Ghost of Nephelius Cemetery - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Watchdog of the Queen" turned one year today! :D  
> I wanted to thank everyone who ever left kudos, commented, or bookmarked on this story! (I am sorry that I never manage to reply to your comments... But I read all of them and they always make me smile. No matter how short or long they are. They make me want to keep on going.  
> Thank you for sticking with me for one year (even though I update so irregularly...) - and I hope you'll stick with me for another one!
> 
> But for now - enjoy the second part of "The Green Ghost of Nephelius Cemetery"!

_**The Reaper, First Encounter** _

* * *

  _“... the day Life and Death meet.”_

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ October 1842**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

 

_I didn’t like Halloween._

_For decades, I was always taking October 31 off. And for decades, I always played chess with myself and baked biscuits all day long on All Hallows’ Eve. But after nearly fifty years, this activity had become extraordinarily boring. I couldn’t see my bone-shaped biscuits anymore, and chess games were finished after a couple of minutes. I needed a change, or I would drive myself insane. I couldn’t believe it that I had actually done that for so many years now._

_I longed for change so much that I had even decided to converse with my fellow Grim Reapers._

 

 

“Hello, Eddy!” Cedric Rossdale yelled through the entire corridor, waving at his colleague.

With an annoyed sigh, Edmund Oxley stopped walking and turned around. He and Cedric had been partnered together for their final entrance exam in the “Grim Reaper training program.” They had passed it and become professional Grim Reapers. Edmund had never liked Cedric and avoided him ever since they had finished their mission, but Cedric loved it to tease him from time to time.

“What do you want, Rossdale?” Edmund wanted to know, sounding incredibly sourly. He had just talked to Cadan Cahill, Grady Taylor, and Catrina Dapper who had also stopped walking when Cedric had called Edmund.

With a smile on his face, Cedric approached them. None of them looked very happy to see him. “I just wanted to know if you planned something for today.”

“I planned to leave,” Edmund replied, scowling.

“The Dispatch?” Cedric theatrically widened his eyes. “Why would you do that? Deserters aren’t well-received by the bosses. I cannot understand why someone of your calibre...”

“I don’t want to leave the Dispatch,” Edmund harshly interrupted him. “I want to leave your immediate presence.”

Cedric burst into laughter. “That was a good one, Eddy!”

Edmund sighed. “How often do I have to tell you that you shouldn’t call me ‘Eddy,’ Rossdale?”

Cedric ignored him and turned his attention to Catrina, Cadan, and Grady. “And did you plan something for today? I am asking because I don’t know what to do myself today.”

“You could go and scare some children,” Edmund mumbled, and Catrina glared at him.

“Don’t be so rude,” she said before she smiled at Cedric and politely answered his question. “I have to reap a few souls in Belgravia.”

“Catrina asked me to help her because she is not capable of doing it on her own,” Cadan said, earning a glare from her.

“I wanted to spend the rest of the day with drinking tea and finishing some clothes I was working on,” Grady told Cedric. The numerous scars covering Grady’s face shone in the white light of the corridor. Despite his menacing appearance, Grady Taylor was one of the gentlest persons Cedric knew. He and his friends, Catrina and Cadan, were very friendly. Therefore, Cedric had no clue why they spent time with Edmund who was annoyed by almost everything and everyone – Cedric being at the top of his list.

“If you want, you can come with Catrina and me to Belgravia,” Cadan suggested. “I guess that she would feel even more secure if you came with us.” He leaned to Cedric and whispered: “I think she is afraid of the octopus ghosts which apparently appeared in London districts where rich people live and who, well, have a strange preference for eating Reapers.”

Cedric giggled. “That’s a good one.”

“Isn’t it? I am brilliant,” Cadan silently said before he spoke louder: “And? Do you want to come with us?”

“If you don’t want to go with them,” Grady said, “you can also join me.”

“No, that’s fine,” Cedric waved away. “Thanks for the offers, but I just remembered that I have to do something today.”

“Are you sure, Cedric?” Catrina asked, and Cedric nodded. “Yes, I am. Have fun in Belgravia, and with tailoring.” With these words, Cedric turned around and walked down the corridor.

 

 

_Grady, Catrina, and Cadan were good people, and they would not have minded it if I had joined them in their activities, but I knew that I would have constantly felt misplaced if I had. Because even though I barely knew them, I knew that Catrina and Cadan preferred to go to Belgravia on their own because they liked each other a lot, and that Grady loved to make clothes in a silent room with nobody else but him. I did not want to disturb their natural order. Also, I knew that it would not have made me happy to reap souls today or try to tailor clothes._

_I did not belong to them, and it had been foolish of me to think that I could just go and talk to them without this thought haunting me._

 

_And now, I was back in my room again, not knowing what to do. I sighed._

_I could not go back to making biscuits or to playing chess with myself. I needed fresh air – figuratively and literally. I gazed one last time at my lonely chess board and my bone-shaped biscuit cutter before I grabbed my coat and left my room again._

 

_I hurried through the corridors, desperately trying to find myself something new and refreshing. None of my fellow Reapers wasted a glance on me, but I looked at all of them until I caught a glimpse of Oxley vanishing behind a door. I stopped in the middle of the crowded corridor and others threw curses at me because of that, but I did not mind it._

_What had Oxley said before?_ “You could go and scare some children.” _And wasn’t it Halloween? Today was the perfect day to go and pretend to be a ghost. Perhaps, this was one of the few valuable things Oxley had ever said._

 _Oh, it would be so much_ fun _!_

_Excited, I turned the around – and almost walked into someone._

_In front of me stood the Grim Reaper with the saddest fate out of all of us – a Grim Reaper, forever bound to stay small and petite with the face of a child until her crime would be forgiven. Physically, she was the youngest among us, but I wasn’t sure if she was also the youngest in age. There weren’t many children who had committed suicide, so her story must be one of the most tragic ones here. However, nobody except herself and the Reapers on the very top of the community knew about it as she rarely talked to anyone, especially not about her past._

_Everyone in the Dispatch knew about her, but only a few knew her name._

_I wasn’t one of them._

 

 

“I am sorry,” Cedric apologised, and the girl blinked up at him. She had the same eyes like everyone else here, but hers were blanker than the others and reflected so much sadness that it hurt him in his chest to look into them.

“It is all right,” the girl replied without expressing any emotion. “You don’t have to apologise.”

He shook his head. “Of course, I do. I nearly walked right into you,...”

“You can call me ‘Em,’” the girl, Em, helped him. It surprised him that she had told him her name without reluctance.

“I am Cedric,” he told her, but she did not react to it. “Uh, well...,” Cedric started. “Do you happen to know a nice cemetery in London and surroundings?”

 

 

_Didn’t children go to cemeteries on All Hallows’ Eve for tests of courage? Therefore, it would be a good place to scare them properly and test how brave they really were._

 

 

Em looked at him for a few moments before a faint, sad smile appeared on her lips. She played with a streak of her reddish brown hair when she said: “Nephelius Cemetery in St. Lacey is a good one. It’s only a few hours away from London.” Then, she suddenly turned around and vanished in the masses.

“Thanks!” Cedric shouted after her, although he knew that she didn’t hear it.

 

 

***

 

 

_I sat next to a broken angel statue in Nephelius Cemetery, waiting for anyone I could frighten to come when I noticed that a big celebration was going on in St. Lacey. Invisible to humans’ eyes, I watched how a young girl in a dark blue dress held a speech as an adult. I narrowed my eyes. I knew this girl. The black hair, the blue eyes, the pale skin, and the atmosphere around her which should not belong to a child..._

_This was the current Watchdog._

_When she had been activated in May, the new Countess of Phantomhive had been the content of almost every conversation in the Dispatch. After all, Watchdogs were there to kill – and to give us more work. Everyone wondered if she would be like the others because she was only twelve years old. All the previous Watchdogs had been older when they had been decorated. But she was still a Phantomhive – why wouldn’t she go hunting for the blood of others? Her family was rotten to the core, so I didn’t think that her age would matter._

_After she was done with her speech, she climbed on a float with the Phantomhive emblem on it – undoubtedly, this girl was Cloudia Phantomhive._

 

_I had the feeling that it had been a good decision to come here. With the Queen’s Watchdog nearby, today would definitely turn out nicely._

 

 

Cedric watched the parade and the ceremonial opening of Phantomhive Manor. He followed everyone to the garden, and if he had not stuck out too much with his silver hair and odd clothes, Cedric would have loved to participate in the games. But only watching Cloudia Phantomhive and the other children playing wheat carving or “bobbing for apples” was amusing enough. He chuckled when he caught Cloudia throwing her apple at a man with a funny moustache when nobody else was looking.

It was very entertaining to follow the festivity, to see all these people happy and laughing. When it was around seven o’clock, Cedric was watching a few little children ‒ it were four: three with blond hair and one with black; the black-haired boy, the youngest out of them, gloomily searched for the others – playing Hide and Seek when he saw Cloudia going to the buffet in the corner of his eyes. Cedric left the four children alone and followed the young Watchdog.

Cloudia and six other children in her age – one boy and five girls – ate all a slice of an odd looking bread, and for some reason, all of them found an object in their slice. Cloudia found a ring at which she stared until she was hugged by a blonde-haired girl. “Congratulation!” the girl screamed, and with a displeased look on her face, Cloudia tore her away from her. A second later, the man with the funny moustache came and yelled: “You got a ring, I see!” He grinned at Cloudia. “I hope you know what that means.”

“Of course, I do,” she replied, scowling at him.

“And I hope that you also know that I won’t allow you to enter a romantic relationship until you’re not _at least_ forty-four.”

“I assure you that you don’t have to worry about me having a ‘ _romantic relationship_.’ Also, even if this impossible scenario ever happened, I doubt that you would have to decide on it.”

The man laughed and gave Cloudia a pat on the back. “Your father also used to say that he would never fall in love or marry. Then, Si met your mother, and he fell so hard for her that he was even shocked at himself. Also, you’re still so young, Dia. You can never know where your heart will lead you.”

“Yes!” the blonde-haired girl exclaimed. “You can never know what will await you in the future. Or do you think that Romeo and Juliet knew from the very beginning what would await them?”

“ _The Most Excellent and Lamentable Tragedy of Romeo and Juliet_ is a _tragedy_ ,” Cloudia replied, her voice dripping with annoyance. “It’s about not falling in love too easily and rushing everything. Also, Romeo Montague and Juliet Capulet are over-dramatic _idiots_ who do not even know what love actually is. They barely knew each other and already wanted to get married! Juliet was _thirteen_! Romeo could have been a crazy ax-murderer – oh, wait, he _did_ murder Tybalt, his wife’s cousin! No matter if Tybalt was a villain, a maniac or not, he still was like a brother to Juliet!”

 

 

_I burst into laughter. Good that nobody could hear and see me._

_This Watchdog was_ hilarious _! I had surely made a good choice._

 

 

The blonde girl screamed at Cloudia, her face glowing bright red: “And what do _you_ know about love?” A second after the words had left her mouth, she put her hands on her mouth, her eyes wide because of the shock of what she had just said.

Cedric raised an eyebrow when he saw Cloudia trying to run away, but was stopped by a brown-haired girl in the last second.

 

 

_Why did it Blondie’s words bother her so much?_

 

 

“Cloudia,” the brunette girl said sweetly, letting go of Cloudia’s arm. “Connie did not intend to hurt you. Right, Connie?”

The blonde girl whose name or nickname was apparently Connie nodded. Tears were glittering in her eyes. “I am so, so sorry, L... Cloudia! I should have never said that. I knew that I shouldn’t have, and I am sorry that I still did.” Connie tried to hug Cloudia but was roughly pushed away.

“Yes, you still did it,” Cloudia Phantomhive snapped at her, her blue eyes burning. Behind the fire in her eyes, she looked so hurt that it surprised Cedric. Wasn’t this girl supposed to be a cold-blooded killer? An ice queen?

“You still did it even though you knew that you shouldn’t – and that is the _only_ thing which matters,” she continued.

“Dia, are you not a little bit too harsh...,” the man with the moustache started, but Cloudia interrupted him. “‘A little bit too harsh’?” she repeated and chuckled bitterly. “Of course, _I_ am the harsh one after Lady Matthews here said that I could have _no idea_ of love because I had never experienced love and never will because my father died and I have no memory of him anymore, my mother locked herself away and does not want to see me, and because I did not only grow up completely isolated from the world, bound to a gruesome system and a dreadful governess, but also with _liars_.” She rubbed her temples. “If _I_ am the harsh one, I guess that _I_ should also be the one to apologise, right? Sorry, everyone, for having me as a relative.”

Then, Cloudia turned around and quickly walked away. Cedric, relieved that he was invisible, followed her.

 

 

_If someone had asked me yesterday if I felt sorry for the Watchdog, I would have laughed and said “no.” But today, after seeing her like this – so vulnerable, so full of sadness –, I wondered if I had been wrong all the time. If it really mattered how old she was._

 

_I followed her into a labyrinth and watched her sitting on a bench, her legs against her body and her arms wrapped around it. She did not move, did not cry, only sat there in lonely silence._

_I sat down right in front of her on the ground. It surprised me that I wanted to show myself to her so badly, to hug and comfort her._

_I had heard her story when she had snapped at Connie and was incredibly saddened by it. I didn’t know this girl, but I felt pity for her. Perhaps because we were so similar to each other: I had also lost so much when I had still been young, had not the easiest of lives afterwards, and the people I had thought loved me had lied to me._

_When the Reapers talked about her in the Dispatch, they only dealt with the question when Cloudia Phantomhive would murder someone for the first time. They only saw her as a killer, a murderer, an emotionless puppet to the Queen – and they had seen the Watchdogs before her in the same way._

_But just like them, I had forgotten that the Phantomhives were still humans despite their “curse” – until now._

_In this very moment, Cloudia Phantomhive didn’t look like an emotionless puppet to me, but like a hurt, broken person. And if I had never seen her before, I would have never thought that this girl was supposed to be the feared ruler of the Underworld._

 

 

Cedric stayed with Cloudia, not wanting to leave her alone, and after a few hours, a man blond hair and brown eyes in a dark green suit found Cloudia.

“Are you all right, Cloudia?” the man asked, sitting down next to her on the bench. She didn’t reply to his question.

“Connie told me everything,” he said. “She really didn’t want to hurt you, Cloudia. You know Connie – she often says things she does not actually mean. It happens on accident.”

“I don’t care,” Cloudia murmured and hugged her legs even tighter against her body.

“Cloudia – there had never been a person more important in the lives of Simon and Penelope than you,” the man said. “Penelope locked herself away because she could not deal with the sudden loss of her husband. She did not lock herself because of you. And she is only so reluctant to see you because she does not want you to see her in her current state.”

“I don’t _care_ ,” Cloudia replied, and her voice shook so much at these words that Cedric’s heart broke. “She left me all alone to the Phantomhive System – her confused _four-year-old_ daughter without any memories.”

“Penelope had her reasons, Cloudia.”

“I do not care about her reasons. She _abandoned_ me. Sometimes, I wish that she would have just died alongside my father. It would not have hurt as much as knowing that she is living in the same building as you but refuses to come out or let you in.”

 

 

_I stood up and left the labyrinth. I didn’t want to hear that. I wasn’t supposed to hear it. This was a private conversation between her and this man._

_This girl should be the cold and mysterious Watchdog. But right now, she only seemed like a little child to me who had spent all her life without anyone who could have given her the love and attention she had deserved._

_And I wondered if the previous Watchdogs had been like her – cursed to be broken and alone for all their lives. With their only purpose to serve the Royal family, and only the Royal family._

 

 

***

 

 

_I watched the four children again. The gloomy boy had found the others. A boy, not much older than he, smiled at him while one of the girls – the taller one – folded her arms in front of her body and glared at the little boy, looking like she could vomit at his sight at any second._

_I let my gaze wander around other party guests: There was a red-haired girl with freckles who sat on a chair and drew people. A crowd of children with shining eyes had surrounded her, begging her to be the next one she would draw. There was a young woman with short brown hair who talked to two men – one with messy black hair and grey eyes, and one whose face was half-covered by his glasses and dark hair. I saw a mesmerising beauty with glossy black hair decently laughing at the joke of a man with sparse dark hair. A brown-haired boy showed around a girl. What he seemed to lack on emotions was reflected on the girl’s face which shone when he spoke to her. I caught a pale girl stealing cake of someone else when he was gazing into a different direction, and chuckled. At the other end of the garden, a tall boy amazed his audience by letting a small object fly through the sky. It was making me smile to see all these people having so much fun. I wished that I could join them._

 

_And then, some time later, two men announced that the scavenger hunt would soon start and everyone who would like to participate should come to them. Immediately, almost every child hurried to them. The men explained the rules to them and handed them envelopes._

_The scavenger hunt was almost about to begin when Cloudia came back and joined it. I smiled when I saw that she felt better already._

_She was reading the riddle on her card when a boy tried to sneak up on her._

 

 

“Howdy, La-,” the boy said – and was cut off when Cloudia whirled around and hit his arm.

“What did I tell you about sneaking up on me?” she said, scowling.

The boy replied her scowl and rubbed his arm. “It’s pointless.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“Oh, no. Seems like we’re on the same team, Lady,” sighed the boy when he glimpsed on her card before he showed her his own.

Cloudia sighed too. They didn’t seem to like each other a lot. “Of course, I had to get sorted into the same team with something as annoying as you. Do you have a clue who’s Number Three? Don’t tell me it’s Lily or Matt.”

They talked a little bit about Lily and Matt, and even though Cedric didn’t know them, they sounded hopelessly ridiculous. Good that nobody could hear his sounding laughter.

“Hello,” a little girl greeted Cloudia and the boy after a while who then turned around to her.

They found out that they all belonged to a team and after introducing each other – the boy’s name was Thomas, and the little girl’s Ilex – and complaining about the game’s level of difficulty, they headed out.

Cedric followed them when they went through the forest, collected acorns and other items, walked through rivers and solved puzzles. It was nice to see them interact as each of them was incredibly hilarious – and in this constellation, it was even more amusing.

 

 

_When had been the last time I had laughed so much and sincerely?_

 

_When Cloudia, Ilex, and Thomas went to Place Nine, I remembered why I had come here in the first place: To scare someone. And who could I scare better than these three? I would love to see their frightened faces. Especially Cloudia’s._

_I quickly returned to my room in the Dispatch to write a riddle which would lead them to Nephelius Cemetery. After all, graveyards and abandoned buildings were perfect locations when it came to scaring people._

“I am a terrible beauty entangled in ivy,” _I wrote on simple stationery._ “Fallen from the light, forever I am bound to the earth. My kin abandoned me. My kin fears me. I am the matter of their darkest dreams.”

_This would definitely guide Ilex, Cloudia, and Thomas to the old cemetery. All I had to do now was to go back and find out where Place Twelve would be so that I could go there in advance and quickly exchange the cards leading them to Place Thirteen._

_I grinned._

 

 

***

 

“I will look for the item, then,” Thomas said when he and the others arrived at the angel statue, Cedric had sat next to earlier. He quickly vanished behind it, and Ilex leaned to Cloudia to whisper something into her ear. Cedric stood right next to them and perked up his ears to hear what she was saying.

“Who wrote the riddle? And don’t try to fool me – I know that it hadn’t been the Viscount and the Baron. The last riddle looked remarkably different than the previous twelve,” Ilex quietly said.

“I have no idea,” Cloudia replied.

Ilex frowned. “And you still brought us here?”

Cloudia shrugged. “At first, I didn’t want you to come with me, but because there are more people in the village this year, I thought that it would be okay to take you with me. Also, I wanted to know why the Secret Someone exchanged the cards and led us here.”

The “Secret Someone” stood right next to them and giggled before he quickly moved, visible, behind the wall of ivy.

The next moment, Thomas ran back to the girls and started screaming hysterically. “There was something! There was something! Something flew by! It was the ghost, it was t-” Something or someone interrupted Thomas before Cedric, holding his belly in laughter, could hear Ilex. “Stay calm, Horse Boy,” she said a second before Cedric made the next step in his plan to frighten them.

He grabbed through the ivy, and took hold of Ilex’s legs. Then, he pulled her through the ivy. She fell down and he dragged her over the ground before he gently put her to sleep with a practised gesture. From the other side, he could Thomas’ girlish cry and smiled.

Cedric picked Ilex up and quickly carried her through the graveyard. A second after he had arrived at the other side of the cemetery, he heard someone – most likely Cloudia – violently cutting through the ivy in the distance. Even from here, Cedric could make out Thomas’ hysteric outburst: “It was the ghost, Lady! It was the ghost! Don’t roll your eyes at me! Ilex suddenly vanished! She was dragged by _something_ through the ivy! How could it be something else but a ghost?”

He began to laugh and accidentally let Ilex fall into the mud. Cedric held back a chuckle before he picked her up again and continued to hurry through the cemetery, in the hope that Thomas and Cloudia would see him and get scared at the sight of something clad in black moving around at such a speed.

Cedric hid Ilex behind a bush when Cloudia and Thomas, just like he had wanted, tried to chase him. He went to watch them arguing.

 

 

_Their arguments were more entertaining than watching television._

 

 

“I am a _formidable_ runner,” Thomas meant after Cloudia had made a remark on his breathlessness. “It’s just that I am not in the best state to run right now.”

“You mean _scared as hell_ ,” she replied and took out a strange object. Cedric frowned.

“You had _that_ with you?” Thomas asked, and Cloudia handed the object to him. “Oh, I have even more,” she replied and lit it up. Probably, it was some kind of match.

“We need to find Ilex,” she said. “I-”

“Don’t suggest that we split up,” Thomas quickly said, his eyes wide and full of panic. Cloudia sighed. “ _Of course_ , we won’t split up, idiot. It is easier to attack whatever or whoever is out here when we stay together. Also, this thing or person won’t have it easy to attack _us_.” She gave him a knife from out of her sleeve. “Take that in case we run into whoever or whatever took Ilex. Out priority is to rescue her, understood? The moment you panic and scream and cry, I will _personally murder you_. You will only hinder this mission and endanger Ilex’s life. When the right opportunity comes, I will give you a sign, and you will run as fast as you can out of the graveyard and get help, understood?”

 

 

_Would an emotionless murderer really act like that? Of course, she had threatened Thomas, but only to emphasise the severity of her words – of her wish to find and rescue Ilex. A girl she had known for only a couple of hours._

 

 

Slowly, Thomas nodded. He had become quite pale. “But what if...,” he whispered with a shaking voice. “What if Ilex is already...”

“Then, the least we can do is bring her body back to her parents,” Cloudia replied, her eyes reflecting seriousness.

“I don’t want to die, Lady.”

“Then, don’t get yourself killed.”

“Come, we need to find Ilex,” Cloudia said and walked away. Cedric, as he was visible right now, was not supposed to laugh, but her seriousness was comical enough not to laugh, and a short chuckle escaped his lips, resulting in Cloudia to stop and frown.

“Did you hear that?” she asked Thomas.

“Hear what?” he replied, perplexed.

“The laugh. Someone just laughed – and it wasn’t you or me. Not even Ilex.”

“Can ghosts laugh?” Thomas gulped which made Cloudia yell at him: “GHOSTS DO NOT EXIST. SOMEONE _GRABBED_ ILEX, YOU ZOUNDERKITE. GHOSTS CANNOT TOUCH MATERIAL THINGS.”

 

 

_Ghosts didn’t exist, she said? Well, then, let’s see if I can change her opinion._

 

_I turned invisible and walked towards Cloudia, putting out the glowing match. Of course, Thomas cried out immediately. Still, she tried to find a rational explanation and blamed the wind for the put-out match._

 

_I raised an eyebrow. Apparently, it took more to change her mind. Therefore, I went to Thomas and tickled him. Grim Reapers, when invisible, could still touch objects, which was why we had to stay away from people and animals when we were concealed to the normal world. Thus, it looked like Thomas had started to laugh all of a sudden – and not because he got tickled._

 

 

“Why the damn hell are you _laughing_?” Cloudia yelled, staring at Thomas who giggled with tears in his eyes.

“I don’t know,” he struggled to say before he fell to the ground where Cedric continued to tickle him.

“Stop this nonsense and stand up,” Cloudia demanded, annoyed.

“This is no nonsense!” Thomas replied. “Help me! I am possessed or something.”

“GODDAMMIT, THOMAS, THE ONLY THING YOU’RE POSSESSED OF IS DUMBNESS,” she screamed at him – and the next instance, Cedric, laughing loudly, lifted Thomas up and vanished with him behind the trees where Cedric knocked him out. It must have looked unbelievable to Cloudia who wasn’t able to see Cedric.

 

 

_I was just about to hide Thomas where I had hidden Ilex earlier and take her with me when I heard Cloudia’s voice in the distance._

 

 

“Ghost or whoever took my teammates,” Cloudia yelled, “can you please give them back to me? It’s getting late, and if we don’t return soon, Constantia will definitely start to panic and force everyone to search for us. And you really _don’t_ want to meet Constantia – I tell you.”

 

 

_I couldn’t help myself but smile._

 

_I made myself visible again before I gently took Ilex in my arms and walked through Nephelius Cemetery. I found a thin and high tombstone and tied together her legs before I attached the rope to the tombstone. Ilex was slowly waking up. Thus I had to be fast._

_When I was finished, I ran back to Thomas. The second I picked him up, I could hear Cloudia talking to Ilex. And again, all I could do was to smile._

 

 

***

 

 

_I tied Thomas to the angel statue and waited for them to come. To my own surprise, only Cloudia came and quickly freed the boy. Immediately, Thomas, having woken up faster than Ilex, took Cloudia’s hand and dragged her out of the graveyard. But right at the gate, Cloudia stopped, shook off his hand and turned back while he ran away._

 

_I had followed them. I had clandestinely followed them out of the cemetery while I had been fully visible to everyone._

_And then, Cloudia had turned to look back._

_Gazing right into my eyes, and I gazed into hers._

_For moments, we stood there, not moving, not breathing, only staring at each other like we had been put under her spell. A spell forcing me to look into her midnight blue eyes for all eternity. In the silver of the faint moonlight, her eyes shone like two dark stars._

_The time seemed to move slower and in my mind appeared a tiny voice spoke words in a whisper which left me shocked: “It’s like two destined people have found each other.”_

_And then, Thomas’ voice through the darkness and undid the spell which had mesmerised Cloudia and me, taking us back to reality which now seemed so strange._

 

_Cloudia turned her head towards Thomas for a second – a second which I used to turn invisible. And when she looked back into the graveyard again, I was gone for her. But she was not gone for me._

_And I gazed after her when she hurried back to Thomas – not turning back again._

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 _I ran all the way back to Phantomhive Manor. My thoughts were tumbling in my head._ What has just happened out there? _I thought, while my heart raced in my chest._

_Thomas had gone home, having enough of this crazy evening. Therefore, I returned to the garden all on my own. Uncle Aidan and Uncle Jonathan waved me to them, but I ignored it. I had to find Izzy._

 

_I spotted him at the buffet. Out of breath – not because of the sprint, I was a good runner, but because of my strange encounter at the cemetery –, I arrived next to him._

 

 

“Cloudia!” Isidore exclaimed, putting down his overloaded plate. “There you are – you and your team took so long. We wanted to send out a group to search for you if you hadn’t come back in the next thirty minutes.”

“Ilex and Thomas are at home,” Cloudia quickly told him. “Izzy – I was at Nephelius Cemetery.”

 

 

_I wanted to tell him the whole story – how the cards had been exchanged; how someone had wanted us to go to the graveyard; how Ilex and Thomas had been kidnapped for a brief time –, but I couldn’t. He would only worry about me. I was the Watchdog and had a lot of enemies – he would think that it had been one of them. No matter how abstruse this was._

_But it hadn’t been one of them. It had been someone,_ something _, else._

 

 

Isidore raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you were?”

Cloudia nodded.

His eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you saw the ghost?!”

 

 

 _Hadn’t it,_ he _, been a ghost? I wasn’t completely sure. But I had indeed seen_ something _._

 

 

“Yes, I did,” she answered.

 

 

_And I had seen so much more._

 

 

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom ‒ October 1847**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_I remembered that day. It had been the best October 31 I ever had. Even though I had not been able to see Cloudia’s frightened face._

 

 

Cloudia leaned her head against the tree behind her. “You must think I am insane,” she said after she had finished telling her story.

“No, I don’t,” Cedric sincerely replied. “I don’t think you’re insane, Countess.”

She turned her head to him and briefly smiled at him before she stood up, brushing the dirt from her dress. “Whatever. We need to return to the manor.” Cloudia started walking, and Cedric rose up and followed her.

“Ilex and Thomas will be at the party,” she told him while they walked through St. Lacey. “Ilex will come with her younger brother, Orion. He’s just like his sister. And they are just like their parents. You _really_ need to meet Grosvenor Galloan and Athena Evergreen-Galloan and their children. They are wonderful people. And I do not usually compliment anyone. And Thomas... well, if you want, you can meet him too. But Thomas is not someone you really want to talk to. Especially because he always tells everyone at the Halloween party about how _heroic_ he acted back then in 1842. Ilex and I can only roll our eyes at that.”

“But what about the ghost?” Cedric asked her. “Didn’t you want to wait for him?”

Cloudia sighed. “That was five years ago, Undertaker. Uncle Isidore said that my father saw the ghost _every year_. But after I saw him back then, I didn’t see him again. Like I’ve chased him away. I don’t think that _I_ will come back again too. This year was the last years that I did it.”

“But can’t we go back to the cemetery? You can show me the sculpture. I would really like to see it,” Cedric said, grinning at her.

She scowled at him before she sighed. “Very well. Follow me.”

 

 

_The statue still looked the same. It felt good to see it again after all these years._

 

 

“Can we go now?” Cloudia asked, already about to turn around.

“I think you should keep this tradition,” Cedric suddenly said, and Cloudia sighed. “But I doubt that the Green Ghost of Nephelius Cemetery will ever return.”

“It doesn’t matter. You should continue it. It’s something you’re father did – and you can never know if the ghost will really never appear again.”

Cloudia scowled at him. “You are terribly annoying, do you know that, Undertaker?”

He grinned. “I am not annoying – I am persistent.”

“Persistent things or people are annoying,” she pointed out. “Take persistent dirt or mould, for example.”

“I cannot believe that you just compared me to _mould_.”

“I cannot believe that you are so escapist that you don’t even know how annoying you are.”

Cedric laughed, and they walked through the cemetery and towards the exit.

“You should not stop the tradition,” he started again, making Cloudia sigh. “Countess – what if you met him one day again? You can never know.”

 

 

And what if you already met him again, Countess? _I asked her in my mind._ Or at least the ghost _you_ saw.

_I sincerely wanted her to continue – I wasn’t the ghost her father had seen. And just as suddenly as the real ghost had stopped to appear some years ago, the real ghost could come back again._

 

_We almost left Nephelius Cemetery when I spotted a tombstone on which two doves were resting who were leaning their heads against each other and whose beaks were slightly entangled. On the tombstone which didn’t look new but newer than the other weren’t any names. It only said:_

“Here lie two lovers and my greatest shame. May you rest in the peace which I took away from you. ~ Augustus.”

_I stared at the gravestone until Cloudia called me._

 

 

“Undertaker!” she yelled. “Are you coming?”

Cedric gazed into the direction from which her voice had come from and walked to her, not looking back again.

 


	17. Special Collection: The Lady, Childhood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry that I haven't updated for so long.
> 
> Many things happened since November. For example, we moved and didn't have internet access until February. Throughout December and January, I had to write a very big research paper for school, because I am in my last year of school. And afterwards, I was not able to write anything for what felt like ages.
> 
> But that gave me time to think about WotQ. Behind the scenes, this story had expanded quite a lot - expanded to the point that I told myself "You will never finish it like this." So I went and changed things. I threw out unnecessary arcs, combined arcs, threw out a huge plotline which would have made the whole story even more complicated. There were two "puffer" arcs which I cut down to special collections. Special collection like this one: The Lady, Childhood.
> 
> I thought that it would be better before I finish "The Lady, Decorated - Part 2" and upload it, that I should do this collection first because it tells a lot of quite important aspects of Cloudia's childhood which did not fit thematically into the "Rise of the Watchdog Arc." (Another reason is that these aspects, these stories are too short to be full-length chapters) For example, this collection will show how cruel Agatha really was to little Cloudia; Cloudia's relationship with Clifford, Constantia, and some others; why exactly Cloudia does not like her cousin Celeste, and some other things.
> 
> I hope you enjoy the first part of "The Lady, Childhood."

**** ****

_**1 - Meeting Agatha Bolton (June 1834)** _

* * *

 

 

“Young Mistress!” Theodore Clifford called.

 

 

_I made myself even smaller than I already had. I did not want him to find me, so I did not reply and also did not make any noise._

 

 

“Young Mistress? Where are you?” Clifford continued to search for the little girl, his late master’s only daughter. “Young Mistress? We are missing you! Mabel, Nelson ‒ all of us! So, please come out.”

 

 

_I knew what he was doing. I would not get out, no matter what he said._

 

 

“Young Mistress, where are you? Please, please come out. We are worried about you.”

 

 

_Did they really worry about me? Miss Mabel, Nelson, Clifford, and the others? Mr Carl and Paul? Lena, Norman, Martin, and Sadie? And all the others? I did not want them to worry about me, but I also did not want to get out of my hideout. What should I do?_

 

 

“Young Mistress?” someone else called ‒ it was Miss Mabel, her nursemaid, and the desperation in her voice made her feel incredibly guilty.

 

 

_But... but I did not want to come out! But Miss Mabel and Clifford..._

 

 

“Ah, found you! There you are, Young Mistress,” Clifford said and opened the cupboard. “I knew that I had heard something.”

 

 

_Oh no! Did I make a noise on accident?_

 

 

Cloudia Phantomhive clenched her knees. “Please, Teddy, just go and pretend I’m not here.”

Clifford’s gaze softened ‒ and it had already been quite soft in the first place. “After I have searched for you for so long? You need to come out, Young Mistress. I am sorry, but I cannot change that.”

“But...” Her lip trembled. “I do not want to meet her.” She buried her head in her knees. “I want to stay here.”

He put a hand on her head. “I know, Young Mistress, but...”

“I am Cloudia,” she said without looking up. “I...” She lifted her head a little bit. “I am not the ‘Young Mistress.’ My name is Cloudia.”

“I know, I know,” Clifford assured her. “But I cannot really call you that now anymore.”

Cloudia made herself a little bit smaller again. “But _why_?” she mumbled into her clothes. “I do not understand it. Because Daddy...” She stopped, her tiny shoulders were trembling again, and she already felt the tears coming.

“Youn... Cloudia,” Clifford started. “I know that this is hard for you, but times have changed. Just like you, I wish that everything was still as it was, but none of us can go back in time and... redo this event.”

 

 

_I couldn’t remember ever hearing him so... so bitter and sad._

 

 

Clifford carefully ruffled through her hair. “But what we can do is to make the best out of our situation ‒ to go on living and find ourselves a new path. You are now the absolute heir to the Phantomhive family, and you should make the best out of it. This opens a lot of paths for you which you could have never had otherwise. See this new situation in the most positive light you can, Cloudia.”

“What is positive if Daddy’s not here anymore?” Cloudia replied, sobbing. “I want him back,” she added in a whisper.

Clifford embraced the little girl and caressed her head. “I know, I know,” he whispered softly. “You know what? I want him back too.”

“Why did he have to go?”

“That is how life functions ‒ everyone has to die someday.”

Cloudia dug her tiny hands in the butler’s uniform and pressed herself against him. “But why did he have to go so early?”

Clifford carefully lifted her out of the cupboard. “I do not know. Nobody does. Only God knows when it is time to go for a person.”

 

 

_When he knew ‒ could he also decide? And if yes, why did he have to take Daddy away from us so early?_

 

 

“Miss Mabel,” Clifford said. “I’ve found her.”

Cloudia could hear Mabel approaching, the clattering of her shoes filling the whole room. “Young Mistress!” she happily exclaimed. Mabel took her from Clifford and made Cloudia look directly into her friendly face. “I’ve been worried,” Mabel stated. “We’ve searched so long for you now; I actually began to think that you’ve run away or were taken away by someone.”

Cloudia looked down and dug her fingers in Mabel’s apron. “I am sowwy,” she mumbled.

Mabel playfully poked her nose. “You don’t have to apologise, Young Mistress! I’m just glad that nothing has happened to you in the end.”

Cloudia looked up. “But I do not want to meet her,” she firmly stated.

Lovingly, the nursemaid tucked a loose streak of Cloudia’s hair behind her ear. “I know, I know, my dear, but, sometimes, we even have to do things we do not like. That’s life.”

“But... but what if she does not like me?” She leaned her head against Mabel’s shoulder, her tiny body shaking slightly.

“It is all right, dear,” the nursemaid gently replied. “Do not be afraid. She will definitely like you. How could somebody not like you? You are extraordinarily loveable, Young Mistress.”

“But what if she does not?” Cloudia asked. However, she still let herself being carried down to the parlour by Mabel, followed by Clifford. Right before they entered, Mabel put Cloudia down and readjusted her dress ‒ which was black as the whole Phantomhive household was still mourning their master’s death – and her hair. Then, Clifford pushed open the door and went inside the drawing room. Mabel followed her, Cloudia right by her side and half hidden behind the nursemaid’s dress.

Someone sat at the table in the parlour, but when the door opened the person stood up and smoothed their own clothing and straightened their back.

The person was a young woman, not older than sixteen, wearing a simple grey dress, and her brown hair was kept in a tight bun at the back of her head.

Clifford bowed in front of her. “I am sorry for the long wait. It took us a while to find the Young Mistress.”

The woman, no, the _girl_ , smiled politely. “I have waited much longer in my life before.”

Then, her gaze met Cloudia’s. “Is she that?” the girl asked curiously. “Lady Phantomhive? My new protégée?”

Clifford nodded. “Yes, she is.”

The girl bent down and extended her arm. “I am Miss Agatha Bolton. I am going to be your governess from now on. Nice to meet you, Mylady.”

Cloudia grabbed Mabel’s skirt and hid behind the nursemaid.

“You do not need to be afraid,” the girl assured her and smiled too broadly.

Gently, Mabel took Cloudia’s hands and withdrew them from her dress before she gave her a soft push towards the girl.

Cloudia stared at her with wide eyes.

The girl smiled. “You can call me Agatha if you want, Lady Phantomhive. And how should I call you?”

Something nasty, something absolutely angry ‒ probably because of the long wait – flickered in the girl’s eyes for a split second, when Cloudia neither answered straightaway nor took her hand; however, Cloudia still saw it. She kept staring at the girl’s hand before hesitantly stepping forward and saying: “‘Young Mistress.’”

 

* * *

 

_**2 - The Wolf of Phantomhive Manor (June 1834)** _

 

* * *

 

_Agatha Bolton did not even wait a week until she showed everyone her true face. The friendly and courteous way she had presented herself in front of us, the servants and me, in the last couple of days vanished from one day to the other. From the very first day, I had known that Agatha was not the nice person she pretended to be, but I had never thought that she was a true monster._

 

_Everything started with Agatha selling my toys._

 

 

The sun shone brightly outside the windows when Cloudia hurried through the corridors. She had finished her breakfast early only to be able to spend a while in her beloved playroom. With lessons and lessons keeping her busy all day long, she barely had time to play properly anymore.

 

 

_I remembered all these hours I had spent in the playroom with Connie. They all seemed to be so distant now._

 

 

With a bright smile on her lips, Cloudia pushed open her playroom door – only to stop in her movement. Her eyes widened at the sight before her.

With grey faces, the gardener Martin and a butler named Norman ran around in the room and gathered Cloudia’s toys. Her dolls, her wooden horses, her balls, her cuddly toys... everything was heartlessly thrown into boxes while the coachman Carl and the footman Paul were busy knocking down her beloved, huge dollhouse. And in the middle of this horrific scenario stood Agatha who commanded everything.

“You can’t do this!” Cloudia yelled and ran to Agatha. “Tell them to stop!” she demanded, grabbing the skirt of her governess.

Icy blue eyes glared down at Cloudia which made the little girl flinch. “Norman,” Agatha said, her wicked eyes still directed at Cloudia even though her words were not, “take the Young Mistress to her room.”

“Yes, Miss,” Norman who used to make Cloudia laugh answered without hesitation. With wide, teary eyes, Cloudia let go of the skirt and stepped back when Norman walked towards her. She yelled and fought back, kicking and hitting Norman, when the butler lifted her up and carried her out of the room.

 

 

_I was locked up in my room and could only stare out of my window in horror – screaming and crying – while the servants filled carriages with my childhood packed in boxes._

 

_But that was not the end of everything._

 

_In the following days and weeks, Agatha redecorated the entire manor. The once colourful rooms were repainted in white and grey. Flowers, vases, beautiful paintings... everything bright and wonderful was either destroyed or locked away in the basement. Even my wardrobe was exchanged with dull, grey dresses._

_In a short time, my home was turned into a cold place, and the rest of laughter and joy which had been left in the manor after Daddy’s death vanished._

_Now, Phantomhive Manor had entirely become a place of death._

 

 

***

 

 

Slowly, Cloudia walked to her schoolroom.

 

 

_When Daddy had still been alive, I had loved every short lesson he had given me. But now, I dreaded going to the schoolroom where I would stay for seemingly endless hours. Every day, I had to go there right after an early breakfast. At lunch time, I only got little – mostly bread and water –; and by dinner time I was too exhausted to eat anything._

_For hours, I sat in a grey room and listened to Agatha or other teachers. My governess only taught me basic things like writing and maths, and the others were there to teach me “special Watchdog things.” Right now, these lessons were short and seldom as I was still small._

_Agatha always said that the changes in my timetable, wardrobe, food, and the manor “had to be done so that there was nothing which could distract me from my lessons.” She had even removed the clock from the schoolroom so that “I would not focus on it instead on my lessons.”_

_My life only consisted of lessons anymore._

 

_However, when I entered the schoolroom on this June day, Agatha was nowhere to be seen. Therefore, I went to her chambers._

 

 

Nervously, Cloudia knocked on her governess’ bedroom door and entered. Agatha stood in front of a full-length mirror, and Mabel was lacing her corset. Both women did not seem to have heard the soft knock.

“Can’t you work faster?” Agatha snarled at Mabel. “Because of you, I am late for the lesson, you incompetent woman.”

“I am already working as fast as I can, Miss,” Mabel answered, unhappiness written all over her face.

Suddenly, Agatha cried out and angrily whirled around to Mabel. “That was too tight, you moron!”

“I am sorry, Miss, I...”

Agatha grabbed a letter weight from a nearby table. “Don’t talk back to your Mistress, you incompetent fool!” She was just about to hit Mabel with the paper weight when Cloudia hurried forward, took a cup of tea and threw the content into her governess’ face. “Young Mistress!” Mabel cried out when she saw Cloudia. Agatha let go of the weight, and it fell heavily to the ground. Cloudia positioned herself between her nursemaid and Agatha, her arms extended.

“You cannot hit Mabel!” she yelled. “And you are not the Mistress of this house – my mother is!”

Agatha pushed away a wet streak of hair, and her face was red from anger. “You!” she screamed. “How could you threw tea at me, you little demon!”

“And how could you try to hurt Mabel!”

The governess narrowed her eyes. “Nursemaid – leave the room.”

Mabel flinched but only looked at Cloudia – her eyes wide with fear. “I am not going to leave the Young Mistress,” Mabel replied, her voice only slightly shaky.

 

 

_My dear, good Mabel!_

 

 

Agatha narrowed her eyes. “Nursemaid – leave the room _immediately_ ,” she snapped at Mabel. “I don’t want to see your face today anymore. And if you ever talk back to me again, you would wish to have been hit with the paper weight.”

All blood left Mabel’s face, and she blinked at Cloudia who nodded slightly. With a final quick, teary glance at her beloved Young Mistress, Mabel left the room in a hurry. The instance she was gone, Agatha slapped Cloudia over the face.

 

 

_No tears, no tears, no tears..._

 

 

“How dare you to speak to me like that!” Agatha said furiously. “I am your governess. The _King himself_ employed me. He _personally_ gave me the task to teach you and manage Phantomhive Manor.” She bent down to look directly into Cloudia’s eyes. “And do you know why I even have to manage this place? Do you know why I have to do this – a task governesses are not supposed to do?”

When Cloudia did not answer, Agatha slapped her again. “Answer me when I ask you a question, stupid girl!”

Cloudia mumbled something, and Agatha nodded. “That’s right – it’s because your mother does not want to have anything to do with this cursed family anymore. That’s why she does not come out – because she does not want to see the demon child she bore.”

Agatha cradled Cloudia’s head in her hands and forced her to look at her. “Yes, did you listen to me? You are a demon child – and nobody wants to have such a child.” The governess let go of her face and pushed her down the ground. Cloudia cried out when she landed. With wide eyes, she looked up at Agatha whose wet hair messily framed her angry, disgusted face.

“And do you know why you are a demon?” she continued, kicking the little girl on the ground. “The Royal advisers always call you that – the Phantomhive Demon. I once listened to their mumble. And who you know why they call you that?” Another kick. “Because someone in your family did something terrible and cursed his blood – and this cursed blood also flows in your veins.” Agatha kicked Cloudia again, this time directly in the gut. “So stop trying to be a hero – because you will never be one.”

 

 

_Then, she kicked me in the head, and everything turned black._

* * *

 

 

_**3 - No Kiss Goodbye (July 1844)** _

 

* * *

 

_Two weeks after Clifford found me passed out and bruised in Agatha’s bedroom, my governess did something which I had though t was even too cruel for her._

 

_I was not able to recall my father’s face. I was not able to recall my father’s voice. Some day in late April, I woke up with no memory at all._

_I did not know my own name or who my mother was. I didn’t recognise Clifford, Mabel, Connie and everyone else. From one day to the other, the people who had once been so close and dear to me had become strangers in my eyes. From one day to the other, I had to start from point zero._

 

_My family, the servants – they all still had to deal with my father’s death as the wound his loss had left behind was still too deep. And then, I woke up without any memories, making their lives even more miserable. And still, my poor mother, Clifford and my aunts and uncles worked hard to teach me their names and tell me stories from the past, in hope I would remember them._

_I didn’t._

 

_All the stories they told me – all the fun we had, all the things we had done – did not trigger any memory inside of me. But I learned all their names anew and started to get to know them again. I might not remember our past, but I cherished every new memory I made with my loved ones._

 

 

_***_

 

 

_Mabel had been my nursemaid since the day of my birth. From the very beginning she had been there for me, and if things had not turned out as they had in the end, she would have been there for me at the very end too. I was certain of it._

_Nelson had been the Phantomhive family’s cook even before my parents married. He had been a close friend of my father who had saved him the slums of Paris. And when my mother married my father, he also became a good friend to her._

_Lena had only been employed as a maid a few years ago. Back then, she had been twelve, and even though Father had told her that whatever path she wanted to choose, whatever she wanted to become he would support her, Lena decided to devote her life serving the man who had rescued her from slavery._

_Only weeks before his death, my grandfather Percival employed Carl, Paul and Martin – three young boys he had saved from a terrible factory where he had investigated a murder. Norman, Clifford’s second-in-command as the Butler of the Phantomhive Household and his successor, had been trained to kill from a very young age but had run away with sixteen, wandering around my father found him. Sadie, the scullery maid, had been forced by her mother to prostitute herself when she had been barely ten years old. When Father had once walked through Houndsditch, she had offered him her services which resulted in him arresting her mother and taking her in._

_The Phantomhive Household might not have many servants – but every single one of them was devoted to their work and incredibly loyal to us._

_I might not remember anything they had done for the rest of my family and me before Father’s death, but I remembered everything they had done after I had woken up. Ever since that day, my love for them had added up. And not even Agatha’s commands could make me love them less. After all, if they had tried to riot, this would have happened earlier._

 

 

_On a July day, I woke up to the world raining and only Clifford sitting next to me._

 

* * *

 

_**4 - Mother’s Birthday (October 1834)** _

 

* * *

 

 

_My mother had been with me when I had woken up in late April. She had helped me to get to know everything and everyone anew. She had held my hand at Father’s funeral in May, and in the weeks between my awakening and the funeral, she had never left my side._

_But on the day after the funeral, she had locked herself up._

 

 

Summer had ended fast. Slowly getting used to her new schedule, Cloudia went through the days like a ghost. In the blink of an eye, the days got colder, and the leaves changed their colour and whirled through the air. But none of the new colours of the leaves – these nuances of red, brown, and orange – seemed to reach the manor which remained grey.

One day, after a particularly horrible day, Cloudia returned to her chambers and glimpsed at a calendar before letting herself fall onto her bed. Only after lying there for a while, Cloudia realised what she had seen: Today was October 9 which meant that...

With new-found energy, Cloudia leapt out of her bed and called for Clifford.

“Tomorrow is Mummy’s birthday!” she cried out as soon as he had closed the door behind him. “What will we do tomorrow?”

 

 

_I had not seen her since May! With Agatha and all the changes, I had almost forgotten that I had her. My dear mother._

_I wanted to see her so badly._

 

 

Before Clifford could reply anything, Cloudia was already talking again. “She _has_ to come out tomorrow! It is her birthday!” She jumped up and down, her eyes shining. “We have always celebrated birthdays together. I am so excited to see her again! What do you think she will look like? Different or the same? I hope it’s the same. I do not want her to look different.”

Clifford, not knowing how to deal with the little girl in front of him and not wanting to shatter her imagination and dream somehow, gestured at her to calm down. “Calm down, Young Mistress.”

“Cloudia.”

“Cloudia,” he said, making her smile. “If Agatha or any of her servants hears you it will not end well.”

She nodded. “All right. I will be quiet. But you need to do me a favour.”

“You do not need to ask me for a favour, Cloudia. After all, I am only a servant.”

Cloudia blinked at him, confused. “You are not, and I will ask you for a favour.”

Clifford allowed himself to a small smile. “I will gladly do whatever you ask me to.”

“Then, can you help me bake a cake for Mummy? Cook wouldn’t do anything if I asked. But we can’t go now – at day, Cook is always in the kitchen. We need to go at night. It is a secret mission.” Cloudia held out her little finger, a serious expression on her sweet face. “Promise me that you will never ever tell anyone about it.”

Clifford softly chuckled – it was a sound she had never heard him do in the last months; a sound which warmed her from the inside when she heard it – before he clasped her little finger with his.

 

 

***

 

 

_It was past midnight when Clifford came and collected me. While we walked to the kitchen, I had to cover my mouth with my hands because I feared that I could start to laugh in excitement and wake everyone up if I removed them._

_Clifford and I baked a cake for hours – of course, he did most of the work, but he let me put in some ingredients and stir the dough sometimes. And while he worked with stunning precision, Clifford told me in detail all what you had to keep in mind when baking a cake._

 

_This night, after we had finished and Clifford had hidden the cake in his room to cool, I went to back to bed with a smile on my face and warmth and hope in my heart._

 

 

***

 

 

_I woke up early to sneak to Clifford because he had promised me yesterday that I could decorate the cake just like I wanted._

_It was a strawberry shortcake – Mother’s favourite –, and I covered it in whipping cream with Clifford’s help. Then, he cut some strawberries into small pieces for me, and I laid them down on top of the cake in the shape of a heart in which I wrote with a shaky hand “Mummy” using strawberry jam._

_I was happy how beautiful it had turned out, and I kissed Clifford on the cheek for helping me. But, first and mostly, I hoped that Mother would like the cake._

 

 

***

 

 

_Today I did not have any lessons – Clifford made sure that I got “rest days” from time to time – and thus spent the entirety of it in front of the door to Mother’s chambers with the cake beside me. Tapping against the door. Waiting for someone to answer. Someone to open the door._

_For Mother coming out and embracing me._

 

_Clifford found me sleeping, curled up in front of the door, at midnight on October 10 – Mother’s birthday._

 

* * *

 

 

_**5 - Names (November 1834)** _

 

* * *

 

_After I had woken up after Father’s death, I had had to learn the names of everyone anew. My mother had been by my side at that time, and when she hadn’t , it had been Constantia because, back then, my family had been allowed to visit as often as they had liked._

_Constantia had told me that I possessed a good memory, but I had still had difficulties learning the names of everyone anew. It was like I had suddenly lost the ability to match names to faces. I would always mix up names, but Constantia had always held my hand and corrected me when I got it wrong again._

 

_I had learned my parents’ names – Simon and Penelope –, my grandparents’ names – Percival and Genevieve, Edward and Hortense –, my aunts’ names – Eleanor, Felicity, Joanna –, my uncles’ – Isidore, Aiden, Jonathan –, and my cousins’ – Cathleen, Keegan, Constantia, Clarissa, Ceara._

_Every night when I lay in my bed, I would say their names silently in always the same order into the darkness while trying to recall their faces so that, someday, Constantia would not have to shoulder the burden to guide me anymore. Eventually, I had added the servants’ names to my nightly chant._

 

_And after so many horrible weeks, I had stopped mixing up names anymore._

_Constantia was loud and always wanted to drag me everywhere because she had had another weird idea what we could do, but, apparently, out of all my cousins , she had been the closest to me before Father’s death. And even though my memory from that time was blank I could still feel part of the closeness I had shared with her. Exactly this remnant had let me decide that I could not, although I enjoyed her company despite her loudness (I, as I had found out, preferred silence), shackle her to me like that forever. It had made me incredibly happy when I had ceased messing up anymore – and this had made Constantia happy too, and her smiles had added to my joy._

 

_But while I had learned all their names anew, it still felt odd to me to call them by nicknames. Constantia had told me that I used to call her “Connie,” but whenever this name left my lips , it felt strange. And this strange feeling always reminded me that, no matter if, deep down, they felt familiar and close to me, that a divide had appeared between my loved ones and me after Simon Phantomhive’s death._

 

 

***

 

 

Cloudia lay awake in her bed. It was long past midnight, but she was unable to fall asleep as her hands were still burning from Agatha’s punishments. Quietly, like a ghost fading into the darkness, Clifford sat next to Cloudia’s bed, just like he did every night until she fell asleep. The dim light of a flickering candle slightly obscured his facial features and let him appear older and wearier than he was.

“Clifford?” Cloudia called out all of a sudden, her voice full of sleep not to come.

“Is anything wrong, Young Mistress?” Clifford replied.

“Can you tell me a story? Maybe, then, I can fall asleep.”

“All right. What story would you like to hear?”

“A happy one,” Cloudia yawned into her blanket. “One in which the good win even if it’s hard. One with a happy ending.”

“Very well. I know one which you may enjoy,” he said, and Cloudia could hear the smile in his words. Clifford cleared his throat before speaking.

“‘There was once on a time a man who was about to set out on a long journey, and on parting he asked his three daughters what he should bring back with him for them. Whereupon the eldest wished for pearls, the second wished for diamonds, but the third said, ‘Dear father, I should like a singing, soaring lark.’ The father said, ‘Yes, if I can get it, you shall have it,’ kissed all three, and set out. Now when the time had come for him to be on his way home again, he had brought pearls and diamonds for the two eldest, but he had sought everywhere in vain for a singing, soaring lark for the youngest, and he was very unhappy about it, for she was his favorite child...’”

 

 

_I closed my eyes and drifted between being asleep and being awake while Clifford’s soft, comforting voice rang in my ears. And when he was done telling his tale, sleep was pulling at my sleeve, wanting to embrace me, but, even though I wanted to let sleep take me with it, I forced my eyes open._

 

 

“Shall I tell you another story, Young Mistress?” Clifford wanted to know, having noticed that Cloudia had not fallen asleep during his narration like she should have been.

“No,” Cloudia mumbled. “And do not call me ‘Young Mistress.’ I won’t allow you to call me that anymore.”

 

 

_I had never liked it when Clifford called me “Young Mistress,” and only now, I had realised why. And before this matter was not settled, I could not fall asleep._

_The softness of his voice had reminded me how harsh the word “mistress” with its sharp t and r sounded – a word not fitting into Clifford’s mouth, a word too strong to be able to describe me. After all, right now, I was merely a little, powerless girl. A weakling, a whimpering, miserable creature._

_And just like the word “mistress” did not feel right when it came out of gentle Clifford’s mouth, calling me one did not feel right either. I was too soft, too weak to be called by such a strong word._

_But I would make sure that , one day, I would be worthy enough to be called “mistress.”_

 

 

“But that is what I am supposed to call you,” Clifford said in his gentle voice she knew so well. “And I am afraid, but I cannot call you ‘Cloudia’ anymore, not matter how hard we wish for it.”

“But it does not feel right,” Cloudia replied, barely being able to keep her eyes open anymore. “Just... call me anything else but that.”

She heard him standing up, and shortly afterwards he blew out the candle and darkness fell upon them. Now, sleep was trying to pull Cloudia with all its might into the dreamland, but she did not want to let their conversation end like this. But before she could open her mouth, Clifford laid his hand on top of her head, carefully patting it, and her eyes fell shut.

“Sleep well, Young Lady,” the old butler whispered and left the room in silence while Cloudia fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

* * *

 

 

_**6 - Milk with Honey (March 1835)** _

 

* * *

 

Cloudia could barely hold her eyes open.

For almost a year, Agatha Bolton was already enriching Phantomhive Manor. For almost a year, Cloudia was already enduring this witch of a governess. And just like the two hundred other days, Cloudia was sitting in the schoolroom with Agatha talking about something boring in front of her. Usually, Cloudia was half-listening to her governess, but today, she was incapable of doing so. Pain pulsed in her temples and blurred her vision and hearing, and she was afraid that she could fall into blackness again, so she put all of her energy into holding her eyes open – a task easier said than done.

Clifford who always quietly observed the lessons in one of the room’s corners was the first one to notice that something was wrong with Cloudia.

“Miss Bolton,” he spoke up, “I am holding the suspicion that the Young Lady is not feeling well. She may have a headache again.”

Agatha sighed, annoyed, closing the book she had read out of a second ago. “How am I supposed to do my work like that? I am quite a few lessons back because of that.”

“I am sorry,” Clifford replied without meaning so, heading towards Cloudia, “but we cannot do anything against it. The doctors her uncles and aunts called were not able to do so, saying that her form of headaches was strange as it was able to pull her away from reality. Especially, the Young Lady herself cannot do anything about it – she is, in first and last place, the victim here after all.”

Clifford lifted the barely conscious Cloudia out of her seat and carried her out of the schoolroom and into her bedroom. Carefully, he sat her down on her bed.

“How are you?” Clifford asked her, holding her shoulders to steady her. Cloudia opened her mouth but was unable to form words.

“I see,” he said, his body tensing up. “I remembered something. Can I leave you alone for a few minutes, Young Lady? Do you think you can stay awake for a little while more?”

Cloudia nodded, and Clifford gently laid her down before hurrying out of the bedroom.

 

 

_It felt like I was underwater. My vision was blurred. I could not hear. I could barely feel me breathing._

_My body slowly descended into the darkness of the water. My body felt heavy and made it easier for me to be dragged down._

_I closed my eyes while the blackness grabbed me. My body felt numb; my body felt cold. I did not feel like doing anything._

“ _Do you think you can stay awake for a little while more?”_

_Clifford’s words set off a spark inside of me. I opened my eyes and tried to reach the water’s surface, kicking and fighting to escape the darkness. I had to stay awake until Clifford came back. I could not fall asleep now. Not now._

 

 

“Young Lady?” Cloudia could hear Clifford’s panicking voice. “Young Lady? Are you there?”

She managed to hold out a hand. “I am here, Clifford,” Cloudia said, barely able to withstand the blackness anymore.

“Thank God,” Clifford sighed and sat her up, leaning her against a large pillow. “I have something which could help, Young Lady.”

He showed her a cup of steaming milk before putting it to her lips and making her drink it.

 

 

_The moment, my lips touched the cup, and sweet milk ran into my mouth, the blackness tried to pull with all its might at me, but for some reason, it failed._

_I was not dragged farther underwater. I stayed at the surface._

_I did not know why, but it was like the milk had managed to give me an anchor I had not possessed before. An anchor which could save me from being dragged into the darkness._

 

 

When Cloudia was done drinking, Clifford put the cup on her bedside cabinet.

“Four years ago, your mother was in Ireland for a couple of weeks to visit her sister who was about to have a child,” he told her before she could ask. “During her absence, you suddenly caught a fever and your father – may his good soul rest in peace – decided to take care of you on his own. At that time, we were in the middle of a snowstorm, and we could neither leave the manor nor could a physician come to us.

“Your father refused to let me help him and tried to cure you on his own. And one day, when you were too weak to eat anything, your father made you a cup of hot milk with honey. You grew very fond of it, and your father made it for you every day, and eventually, it helped to cure you of your disease. From that time on, every time you were not feeling well, your father would personally prepare a cup for you.”

He put a hand on her head. “I can see that it helped again. Now, it looks more like you are here.” Clifford put a blanket over her. “I think you should sleep now. It must have strained you to stay awake.”

“Thanks,” Cloudia said, cuddling into her pillow and closing her eyes, not having to fear to be pulled away and be trapped for days.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story Clifford tells Cloudia in "Names" is _The Singing, Springing Lark_. You can find it here: http://www.surlalunefairytales.com/beautybeast/stories/lark.html. And a wonderful comic adaption of it here: http://www.erstwhiletales.com/the-singing-springing-lark-00/
> 
> The title of the second short "The Wolf of Phantomhive Manor" is a reference to _The Wolves of Willoughby Chase_ by Joan Aiken. Agatha's actions are also based on what their evil governess did to Bonnie and Sylvia Green, the protagonists.
> 
> Last but not least, I want to say that despite me rearranging the story, I have no idea if I really will finish WotQ. I love writing it, but lately, I feel drained more often.
> 
> In case, that I will not finish WotQ, I left hints a long time ago - in form of my one-shot _My Lenore _. The one-shot and the two poems and the fairytale it is based on are my emergency hints for you.__
> 
>  
> 
> __  
> _But still, I hope you've liked this "chapter."_  
> 


	18. The Lady, Thirteen Days

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time no see, huh?
> 
> I will talk about various things in the endnotes (for example why this chapter isn't called "The Lady, Decorated - Part 2" anymore!), so I don't start talking and talking before you could enjoy this chapter. And I hope you do after the overly long wait which I am sorry for.

_“The time had come – in a few days it would be done.”_

* * *

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – April 1842**

 

 

_When I thought of London, not the many beautiful and historical buildings, the crowds of people, the cultural diversity, or the city’s liveliness came to my mind, but the smell._

_The smell of London was a very terrible one. It was even more awful than the worst smell you could imagine. It was the kind of smell which did not only make you want to throw up or wish to have been born without a nose but which was also capable of making you ill. The smell coming from the Thames had turned the air of London into miasma which brought horrible diseases with it._

_A long time ago, the Thames had been clean, but now it was filled with human excrement, corpses of animals, horse and cattle manure, and rotten food which had been washed into the Thames by the rain. Especially, after more and more people had come to London, the state of the Thames gradually became worse and worse. The 200 000 cesspits were overflowing, and so were the sewers which had not been built for such an exorbitant amount of waste._

_It was a miracle that some organisms could still live in it._

_For someone who had grown up in the countryside, in a mansion surrounded by trees, it was always a shock to enter London after being able to breathe fresh, clean air permanently._

 

_Even now when I was sitting in a carriage which was bringing me to the Phantomhive townhouse, I was not safe from the Thames’ smell. In almost two weeks, I would be decorated as the Queen’s Watchdog. The ceremony would be held at Buckingham Palace. Therefore, I had to move to the townhouse for a couple of days. I was very excited and tense, not only because of the decoration, but also because this was the second time after my father’s death that I would enter the townhouse, and the first time since..._

_And, perhaps, I was also a bit tense because I was driving to the townhouse with Barrington._

 

_It was unheard of that a girl inherited a title. If a nobleman only had a daughter, his title would be passed down to either his younger brother or his eldest nephew who would not inherit a title from his father._

_But the Phantomhives held a special position in society, and this special position had allowed me to break the rules and inherit the title of the Countess of Phantomhive. However, the public was not aware of the duty the Phantomhive family held to the crown and the United Kingdom, and thus, to the public, it would be a shock and a scandal if they found out that I, as a girl, was to inherit a title._

_Well, but they would not find out about it._

 

_Ever since my conversation with Her Majesty the Queen a few years ago, I had pondered over a solution for this problem: How could I be Countess without society finding out about the Phantomhives’ position as the Watchdog?_

_Easy. I would just have to become the Countess of Phantomhive without anyone knowing about it. But how could I officially become it someday and save my family’s title from becoming extinct? The solution to this problem was also quite easy: I simply needed to fake a relative who would “inherit” the title from my father. And, one day, when I had encountered the perfect husband for me I would have to convince him to leave his identity behind and become said false relative of mine._

_With this in mind, I had worked on a suitable, plausible story to explain the sudden appearance of a “secret male relative.”_

_My grandmother, Genevieve Phantomhive, had adored my father and grandfather. But my grandfather, Percival Phantomhive, had been known to leave his wife and son behind, travel around the world, and drown himself in work. Spreading the lie that my grandparents had secretly divorced and that my grandfather had, also secretly, married anew and said second marriage had resulted in another son, was therefore as easy as solving the Sphinx’ riddle. According to this lie, Percival Phantomhive had had two legitimate sons – both in the position to inherit. And before dying due to an illness his younger son had had a son – my “cousin,” the next Earl of Phantomhive, and my “fiancé.”_

_If I had found a husband who was willing to accept my requirements, I would automatically become the Countess of Phantomhive – again. After all, at that time I would have already held this title for a fairly long time._

_To complete my plan and to show the aristocrats that I had a paternal cousin, I would be decorated twice – first as the Countess, then as the Earl in the disguise of a boy._

 

Phantomhive Manor was a huge Elizabethan building – rising from a glade in a forest like a majestic castle of shadows. To the people in St. Lacey, the manor _was_ a castle as it was the residence of their patron.

The townhouse was remarkably different to the manor. It was small and did not possess any of the distinct features Phantomhive Manor had. While the manor stood out in the forest, the townhouse was plain and hid itself between the other villas in the road. Still, Cloudia was amazed by it when they drove through the narrow black portal. Then the carriage came to a halt, and Clifford helped her to exit.

While the servants were busy unloading their luggage, Cloudia could not help running up the stairs to the entrance door. But the instance she opened it, the small smile which had sneaked on her lips faded.

“There you are, Cloudia,” Penelope Phantomhive said from the doorsill.

 

***

_This was the second time after Father’s death that she had left her chambers. The last time had already felt surreal to me as I could not comprehend that she, my mother, was finally standing in front of me again, but this time, it felt even more like a distant dream._

 

“Well...” Cloudia started. “What brings you here, Mother?”

After the initial shock of Penelope’s presence in the townhouse, Clifford had hurried to prepare the drawing room for them to sit and talk. Now, Barrington, Cloudia, and Penelope were gathered around a large round table while Clifford and Grace Nullings, Penelope’s maid, were silently standing in the background.

“I am not the kind of mother who misses her only daughter’s decoration,” Penelope answered, raising a cup to her lips.

Cloudia nearly laughed at her mother’s words. “But why did you not inform Clifford or me?”

Penelope set down her cup, looking straight into her daughter’s eyes through her mourning veil. “In two weeks I will cease to be it, but right now, I am still the Countess of Phantomhive,” she said, “and I do not need permission to go anywhere from anyone.”

“It would have still been great if you had told me anything,” Cloudia replied. “I am certain that you would not be very fond of it if I was to take Clifford and leave without telling anyone beforehand.”

“Do not be silly, Cloudia. I would have never let you leave without permission in the first place.”

“And how will you do it if I am to leave in secret as you did? If I secretly run away at night without anyone knowing about it?”

“Cloudia, dear – I am the Interim Head of the Phantomhive family, I know very well what is going on in the manor. I have my eyes everywhere.”

 

_What about the countless times Agatha tormented me? What about my screams? My breakdown in the gallery? The Queen’s falcon bringing me a letter and me leaving to meet her? Did you see and hear all these things too, Mother?_

_And if yes, why did you do nothing?_

 

“How long were you here?” Cloudia wanted to know, changing the topic.

“Two days, and this was not the most formidable way of changing the topic of our conversation, my dear.” Penelope rose from her chair and headed towards the door. “Grace? It is time to go.”

Grace briefly bowed before following her mistress out of the parlour. As soon as they were gone, Cloudia breathed out. “I did not imagine that she would come here,” she stated, leaning against the chair’s backrest.

“She is even more problematic than before,” Barrington pointed out, shaking his head. “I wanted to hop into the conversation, but I was afraid that she would devour me without blinking even once if I did.”

“What if she messes up everything again?” Cloudia asked. “The last time, she came out, she ruined my chance to introduce myself properly to the Queen and talk to her. _She dragged me out of the palace in front of a hundred people for damn’s sake_. What if she does something like that again? Only very few, selected individuals will be at my rightful decoration, but many will come to ‘Lord Phantomhive’s’ decoration. I cannot allow her to taint my reputation any further – no matter if she is my mother or not.”

“Oh the matter of the false fiancé,” Barrington said, grinding his teeth. “I am still not very pleased about the fact that the Queen fabricated such a story to distract others from you. I did not know Percival Phantomhive very well, but Genevieve was like a second mother to me. I do not care what others might have thought about their relationship, but Percival would have never done something like this to his wife and son. In his odd, aloof way, he loved them both.”

 

 _They knew about the lie, but I had never told them that it had been_ my _idea and not the Queen’s._

_I wondered what they would think and say if, one day, they found out._

 

“And what this means to you, Dia!” Barrington continued, enraged. “Nobody will ever ask for your hand in marriage because everyone will think that you are already promised. You will never be able to love someone freely because you can only marry someone who is completely content with eradicating his own existence and putting on the hollow mask of the ‘Earl of Phantomhive.’ But who would ever agree to something like that? Who will love you for countless years, knowing that you have destroyed his own life? There are not a lot of people who would give up their existence – not even for someone they love.” He ran a hand through his hair. “And Si would have _never_ engaged you to someone when you were still a child, Dee. He would have _never_ shackled you to someone whom you may never love. I know that very well.”

Clifford clapped his hands together and emerged from the shadows. “Sir Barrington, the Young Lady and you have a long journey behind you. Instead of getting agitated and clouding your minds with such dark thoughts, you should rest. The next days until the Young Lady’s decorations will be filled with work. It is best to get some rest when you still have the opportunity to do it.” He walked to Cloudia and offered her an arm to help her stand up. “I do not want to give you a lecture, but please keep in mind, Young Lady, that your mother has lost someone she loved to the duty you will inherit in a few weeks. You should always consider every side of a coin before judging a situation or person, Young Lady.”

Cloudia smiled faintly at him and took his arm.

 

_I knew that Clifford was right. Of course, I did. But part of me still loathed my mother for abandoning me._

 

***

 

“Lulu!” Constantia cried out and ran towards Cloudia, embracing her. “We haven’t seen each other in _ages_!” She stepped back and held her cousin at arm’s length. “You have grown so much! And you are so much prettier than the last time I have seen you!”

 

_Four days after arriving in London with Barrington and Clifford, it was time for the rest of my family to come. Aunt Eleanor and her family were the first. They used to be the ones I had been able to see more or less regularly while being part of the Phantomhive System. Still, the last time I had seen them had been three years ago._

 

“You have also grown a lot,” Cloudia remarked, freeing herself from Constantia’s arms.

 

_She was still as loud as ever. And she was still using this ridiculous nickname for me. Had time stood still for her over all these years?_

 

“I have missed you so much,” Constantia continued, beaming. “I have so many things to tell you!” She linked arms with Cloudia and walked into the entrance hall of the townhouse. “But first of all – did you like the present I have sent to you for your birthday? I have waited for you to write a letter, telling me how you liked you, but it never came, and I wondered if you simply forgot it because you are always so incredibly busy. I am not angry at you if you did.”

 

 _I froze._ Present? Which present? _I thought until my busy mind came to only one logical conclusion:_ Agatha _. How could this hag_ dare _to withhold something which was addressed to me?_

_I could not await it to go back to the manor._

 

“I am sorry, Constantia,” Cloudia replied, “but, just like you have assumed, I have been too busy to write to you. But I have really liked your present.”

She smiled at her. “I am glad to hear that.”

“By the way, where is Celeste? I haven’t seen her coming out of the carriage.”

“She is sick,” Constantia told her, her eyes sad. “We could not take her with us, but she will come as soon as she is feeling better. Lessie would never forgive herself if she did not come for your special day.” She took Cloudia’s hand and dragged her upstairs. “But now, let us talk about everything!”

Cloudia pulled herself away from Constantia. “I am sorry, Constantia,” she said, going downstairs again, “but I cannot chat with you right now. The others will come soon, and I have to greet them. Also, there are many preparations to be made – I do not have the time to hide under blankets and talk and giggle through the entire rest of day and night.”

 

 

_Not now and not in the future._

 

 

“Is it because of what happened the last time we were here?” Constantia called after her, and Cloudia stopped in the middle of the stairs. “If yes, I will apologise again. I still regret what I did to you, Clou, I really do. We were children, and I did not know what consequences my actions would have. I am sorry, Clou. If I could turn back time, I would undo it. But I cannot. I cannot undo what has already happened; I can only apologise for doing it in the first place.”

Cloudia turned back to her cousin, glaring at her. “Could you _please_ stop overly interpreting everything, Constantia? I have told you the reason why we cannot sit down and talk. Why do you have to bring back this topic again? Why do you have to bring back this topic out of the blue like that? Does that make you happy in some cruel, twisted way, Constantia Matthews?”

 

 _I took a deep breath._ Calm down, Cloudia _, I told myself._ Do not get agitated about that. It is not worth it.

 

Without saying anything more, Cloudia walked down the rest of the stairs and greeted the newly arrived Morrows.

 

***

 

_I wanted Kamden with me._

_I lay in my bed, staring at the ceiling. I had let dinner be brought to my room because I did not want to get a headache from my family. Especially, I did not want to see Constantia. Or sit at the table, wondering when my aunts would find out that their dear, fourth sister was with us but in another room._

_The townhouse was filled with people, but the only one who I really wanted to be here could not come._

 

“You are so pathetic, Cloudia,” she told herself and rolled herself off from the bed.

 

_I would be the Watchdog in less than two weeks. I should not want to have anybody with me. I should not need anybody to comfort me._

 

There was a knock on the door. “You may enter,” Cloudia called and sat down on a chair. Clifford entered and bowed before closing the door.

“Young Lady, how are you feeling?” he asked.

“I do not have a headache, Clifford,” she said, smiling. “Do not worry; I am fine. I simply feared that I would get a headache if I dined with my family.”

“For once, I am not meaning that, Young Lady,” Clifford replied, surprising her. “I mean how you are feeling about becoming Her Majesty the Queen’s Watchdog in ten days. I hope, Mylady, that I am not offending you with my question, stepping over boundaries servants should never cross, but it occurred to me that you may want to talk about it.”

“How often do I have to tell you, Clifford, that you are not simply a servant? I consider you more my family than my actual relatives.

“And I am fine. You really do not have to worry about me, Clifford.”

Clifford lowered his head. “I know that you are not comfortable to speak to anyone about your thoughts and feelings, that you prefer to keep them to yourself. But I want you to know that I am certain that you will be a wonderful Watchdog, that you have been worthy all along to be it – and to be called ‘Mistress.’”

 

 _I flinched. How did he know? I had never told_ anyone _that me thinking that “mistress” was a word too strong to describe me was the reason why I insisted that nobody called me that._

 

“I know that you are thinking differently,” Clifford continued, taking the empty tray, “but we all have faith in you – you are stronger than you believe you are.” He bowed again. “I wish you a refreshing sleep, Young Mistress,” he said before leaving the room.

 

***

 

_“I am certain that you will be a wonderful Watchdog, that you have been worthy all along to be it – and to be called ‘Mistress.’”_

_Clifford’s words simply would not leave me. Days had passed since he had spoken them, and I still could not stop thinking about what he had said._

_In seven days was my decoration and in eight the “Earl’s.” And with every passing day, with every day which brought us closer to the decoration, things became more and more hectic._

 

“I think a dress made of the green velvet you have shown us earlier would suit her very well,” Felicity Morrow who stood against a wall with crossed arms meant.

“This one, Viscountess?” a young tailor assistant named Natalie asked, holding up a piece of fabric against Cloudia.

 

_Today, the palace had sent someone to take my measures and make first drafts of my two decoration clothes – and my aunts were being overly excited about it._

 

“No, the green is a little bit too light and would definitely look strange on Dia as she rarely wears green,” Barrington disagreed. “Furthermore, the colour is too incompatible with her skin- and eye-colour – it could make her look sickly.”

 

_And somehow, Barrington had managed to sneak into the dressing room._

 

“Then, how about this one?” Natalie suggested, putting away the green fabric and holding a lavender-coloured material with a faint, white pattern against Cloudia.

“Cloudia would look like a princess in a dress with this colour,” Joanna Woodward meant from the chair she was sitting on. “I think we should take it.”

Eleanor Matthews shook her head. “We cannot let her look like a princess, Jo,” she replied, “it would be inappropriate for this occasion. Personally, I think we should take a blue dress because blue fits very well with her eyes and it is basically the family colour of the Phantomhives.”

“But then we have to choose the blue tone very wisely, Ellie,” Joanna said. “It has to be a nuance which supports the colour of her eyes and does not weaken it. And as her eyes are already so dark, her dress should be lighter, but if the blue is too light it will not look good against her pale skin...”

“No, not a pale colour, Jo,” Felicity cut in. “She should wear a simple dress in a more vibrant colour. She is going to be the Watchdog and not the Queen of the Seelie Court after all.”

“Excuse me?” Cloudia raised her voice, but her aunts and Barrington kept arguing with one another. “ _Excuse me_ ,” she repeated, this time with a louder voice, and they collectively turned their gazes to her.

“You keep forgetting about me,” Cloudia said. “I am not a dress-up doll. It would be wonderful if you listened to my opinion too. I think your suggestions are all lovely and well-thought, but I had already made my decision twenty minutes ago when you argued about if or if not my dress should have stripes.”

Eleanor frowned. “You have already chosen?”

Cloudia nodded. “Yes, I have. I was thinking about a cream-coloured dress.”

“But your skin, it is–”

“I know; it is too pale. Therefore, I was thinking about the fabric being partially decorated with rose prints, and the bodice being covered in black lace.”

“A dress resembling the dress of a debutante,” Joanna said with shining grey eyes and gleefully clapped her hands together, “with a touch of fairy tale magic – ‘ _for she was even now as white as snow, and as red as blood, and as black as ebony_.’ I think this is a lovely idea, Cloudia! And how about you, Ella? Fely? Sir Barrington?”

“I still believe that a simple, one-coloured dress would be better,” Felicity meant, “but just like she has said, in the end, it is Cloudia’s decision to make.”

Eleanor sighed. “Of course, it is. But this is a very formal and very important event, and choosing a gown with elements of a debutante and fairy tale dress does not seem appropriate enough. A simple but beautiful dress like Fely suggested would be fitting, and it being in her family colours would a good choice because of the alliance which will be made on that day – the renewed alliance between the Royal and the Phantomhive family.”

“Ella, it is not right to say that it is indeed Cloudia’s decision when you still step over her wishes,” Joanna replied.

“I am _not_ stepping over Cloudia, Joanna, I only want the best for her.” Eleanor pinched her nose. “This day has to be flawless in every point for Cloudia’s sake after all.”

Joanna stood up, walked to her sister and took her hands. “Ella, we know that, of course, we do, but just like we cannot, we will not ignore your wishes, we cannot close our ears to Cloudia’s. We need to find a compromise.”

“How about Dia wearing the dress she wants, and ‘the Lord’ wearing simple clothes in blue and black?” Barrington suggested. “Dia’s proposal was, in my opinion, appropriate enough for the decoration. More or less officially, it will be her debut at court after all, and with the Snow White theme, the dress will be all her own too. Also, there will be significantly more people at ‘the Lord’s’ decoration. Choosing clothes with a slightly stronger symbolic meaning would be better for this occasion. Furthermore, Dee cannot wear basically the same things on both days – it would look cheap and would not separate her from the fictional ‘Lord of Phantomhive.’ The alliance is an essential aspect of the decoration but is even more important to underline Dia’s individuality – that she is, despite the alliance, an independent person and not the Queen’s marionette.”

Felicity nodded. “Sir Barrington is absolutely right. I agree with him on all his terms.”

“Thanks, Felcy,” Barrington said, smiling. “I am glad that someone appreciates my thoughts.”

“I do not appreciate all of them,” Felicity replied, glaring at him. “And do not call me ‘Felcy.’”

“You, your sister – I mean Penelope, of course –, and Dia are sometimes scarily alike, Viscountess of Wellington,” he mumbled.

“This is what you call ‘family resemblance,’ Barrington,” Cloudia told him. “Besides, I congratulate you on making the first useful suggestion in your entire life.”

“I still cannot understand how you could turn out so much like your mother when you rarely got to see her.” Barrington shook his head.

“Oh god, we still have to sort out everything concerning ‘the Lord,’” Eleanor said, sighing and pinching her nose again. “What should we do about him? Cast a boy around Cloudia’s age to play the role?”

“I know someone we could use as the fake Lord,” Barrington whispered, and no one but Cloudia understood the meaning of his words. Her eyes widened.

 

 _Kamden. He meant_ Kamden _._

 

Anger took over her body in the same overwhelming manner than it had a month ago. Immediately, Cloudia grabbed her skirts and rushed towards Barrington, not caring about Natalie who had got startled by her sudden movement.

“Do not _dare_ to pull him into this!” Cloudia yelled at him, pointing her index finger at him, her body working all on its own. Of course, she knew where she was, and that almost her entire family was inside this room, but... _but do you really want to stop yourself by the etiquette when it is about this matter? When it concerns the only person you can even partially entrust your heart with? When it concerns the person you love the most?_ the voice in her head interrupted Cloudia’s other thoughts. _Sometimes, it is worth it to ignore manners and etiquette for once._

“We have talked about this!” blurted the words out of her. “And if you even waste a single _thought_ of pulling him into this matter, I will...”

Cloudia stopped, pressing her lips together. Instead of continuing to talk, she looked at Barrington with an ice-cold gaze even though she was bristling with anger.

Barrington stared at her, his pale green eyes widened. “Were you just about to _threaten_ me?” he whispered, disbelief in his voice which was so low that only Cloudia could hear him.

“And _you_ were just about to drag an innocent civilian into Watchdog affairs, Sir Barrington Weaselton,” she harshly replied, her gaze becoming even colder.

He stared at her for one more second until he clenched his fists. “I was simply making a recommendation, Dia,” he said, his voice void of vigour. Now, there wasn’t disbelief in Barrington’s eyes anymore – now, they only reflected an odd mixture of anger and hurt.

“Well, I advise you to _think_ before you actually speak,” Cloudia retorted before turning to her aunts and Natalie. “I guess we all need a break. We will resume in an hour. And Aunt Eleanor – it will be me who will play the role of the false Lord of Phantomhive and no one else. Nevertheless, I wish you all a refreshing hour.” With these words, Cloudia walked out of the dressing room with a straight back and her head raised high.

She stomped through the corridors and towards the townhouse’s small library. Cloudia passed irritated servants and a puzzled Keegan and Ceara, but she ignored them and entered the library, closing and locking the door behind her.

As soon as the door had closed, Cloudia leaned against it and slid down to the ground. Frantically, she fumbled on her ring, the anger which she had felt moments ago slowly leaving her body.

 

 

 _Oh god. How could I have said all these things? How could I threaten Barrington? Was my brain so overworked and overexcited due to the upcoming decoration that I seriously_ threatened Barrington in front of my aunts and a tailor assistant _?_

 _I held my head. This was the second time that I had not been able to control myself and yelled at Barrington, exaggerating the situation. He had_ whispered _– he had only talked to me, had known that only I would hear and understand his words. He had never truly considered using Kamden. He was Barrington’s ward after all, and Barrington cared about him._

_Dammit, dammit, dammit – how could this have happened? How? And why?_

_I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the comforting smell of books._

_I had to fix this.  I had to fix this immediately._

Cloudia stood up and unlocked the door, noticing with surprise that her curious cousins had not gathered at its other side. She went back to the dressing room but did not enter it when she heard Felicity’s voice. Instead, she pressed herself against the wall next to the door.

She could hear her aunt snorting very unladylike. “That girl has the same temperament as her mother,” she stated, making Eleanor sigh.

“Well... you should not be the one saying that, Fely,” the oldest of the four Houghton sisters remarked.

“Ella, Fely, please do not start a fight,” Joanna begged with a low voice. “Cloudia’s decoration is coming closer and closer, and we all may be nervous and tense, but we need to stay calm. We cannot ruin this for her.”

 “You are right, Jo. I am sorry,” Felicity admitted.

“I am sorry too, Joannie.” Eleanor sighed again. “ _I_ am supposed to be the calm one. And now, I have actually started to sound like Penny.”

Cloudia could hear Joanna patting her sister’s arm and replying in a whisper: “It is fine, Ella. After all, you took most of the responsibility to look after Cloudia after Simon’s funeral. Like Sir Barrington. But you never had to. Fely and I are also there to help you and steady your back, so relax for a while and take a walk for the next hour.”

“You are an angel, Joannie,” Eleanor said, and Cloudia knew that she was smiling and that Joanna returned her smile with a shy one of her own.

Then, the other door to the dressing room opened, and someone stepped inside. Cloudia flinched and pressed herself farther against the wall.

“Nobody asked you to do it, Eleanor,” Penelope Phantomhive said with an icy voice.

 

 

 _What was_ Mother _doing here?_

 

 

“Oh, Jo, Fely, Sir Barrington – look who graces us with her presence! We almost thought they were lying when Mr Clifford and Sir Barrington informed us that our fourth sister was here at the townhouse.” Eleanor said as bitterly as Cloudia had never heard her aunt before. “And you apparently do not realise it, but we wouldn’t have to take care of _your_ daughter, Penelope, if you had not abandoned her in the first place.

“We all know how much Simon meant to you and how much you have suffered and still suffer because of his untimely death, but your grief, no matter how big it may be, is no reason to forsake your only daughter. And do you really think that we would have done the same to Cloudia after you locked yourself up? That we would have turned our backs on her too, leaving her to the teachers and servants the Royal family employed? Leaving her only to Mr Clifford – poor Mr Clifford who mourns the loss of his master as much as you do? Cloudia may not be Fely’s or Joanna’s or my daughter, but she is our niece, and we would have never abandoned her like you did. Even Sir Barrington who is not even related to Cloudia cared more for her over the past years than you did. Over the past eight years in which we have tried our best to make Cloudia feel that she is not all alone in the world despite the strict rules of the crown.”

“Like have I said: Nobody asked you to do it.”

Eleanor chuckled bitterly. “And what would have happened if I had not decided to do it? Your daughter would be as locked up as you were in the last years. At least, _we_ did not want to give up on Cloudia like you did.”

 

 

_I closed my eyes and imagined the scene inside the room: Mother and Eleanor coldly glaring at each other. Felicity, silently watching her sisters. Joanna nervously trying to find the right words to ease the situation. Barrington scowling at the two fighting women with lips pressed tightly together, dying to say something but knowing that it was better not to. Natalie uneasily looking around, feeling terribly out of place._

 

 

“If you say so,” Penelope ultimately said, leaving the room.

 Cloudia could feel her body tremble.

 

 

_“You should always consider every side of a coin before judging a situation or person, Young Lady.”_

_And what should I do when every side of the coin was as dark as night?_

I need fresh air _, I thought, running down the stairs and to the courtyard in front of the townhouse._

 

***

 

_I had managed to calm myself down, pushing the conversation into a box in the far back of my mind and closing it with numerous ropes. I could not think about Penelope Phantomhive right now. Not now when the biggest day in my life was more or less right around the corner. Not now when my mind was already strained enough with the preparations for the decoration._

_I stepped out of my hideout between some trees and started to head back inside – the hour was either already over or almost reaching its end – when I saw Celeste strolling through the courtyard all on her own. The Matthews Butler had brought her here yesterday afternoon. For a split second, I wondered what she was doing out here all on her own in the cold, but then, I remembered that I had no interest in what or what not Celeste Triton did. But seeing her gave me an idea._

 

“Celeste!” Cloudia called her, and her step-cousin flinched before she stopped in her movement and turned around at the sound of her name.

“Uh... yes, Cloudia?” she asked, nervously stepping from one foot to the other.

Cloudia approached her in a few quick steps, and a smile was plastered all over her face. “I need you to do me a favour.”

Celeste’s brown eyes widened nervously. Cloudia was afraid that she could break into a sweat every moment. “Wh-What kind of favour, Cloudia, would that be?”

“Do not be afraid. It is nothing dangerous.”

Despite her words, Celeste didn’t look less tense and scared.

“Really, Celeste. You will be fine,” Cloudia assured her with a nod. “All you have to do is sit and pretend to be me.”

Cloudia wondered if it was possible for Celeste’s eyeballs to pop out of her head would she keep widening her eyes even further. “P-Pretend being you?”

Cloudia nodded again. “Yes. You know about there being two decorations, right? One for me and one for my fictional, paternal cousin with no name. Yes, you do? Fantastic. Well, you see, Celeste, that people would get suspicious if I was not among the guests of the second decoration as I am ‘the Lord’s’ fiancée, but I cannot be in two places at once as I will be impersonating the ‘Lord of Phantomhive’ at that time. Therefore, I need you to pretend to be me.”

“But how should that work? We do not look very much alike,” Celeste meant, fumbling on a streak of her curly light brown hair which had somehow freed herself from her hair-do.

“I have already thought about it,” Cloudia replied. “We will get you a wig and tell everyone that you, Celeste, got sick again and, unfortunately, has to stay in bed. However, you as me will also pretend to be ill, but not as sick as you couldn’t go outside. Aunt Eleanor, Constantia, and the others will play along. We almost have the same height and skin tone, and to cover up your eyes, you will wear a dark veil. The others will say that you as me do not want to show your face while being ill, but you simply could not miss the ceremony, so you went although you are not feeling well. This will also be the reason why you will not be talking very much. It is waterproof, Celeste. My plan will not fail.”

Cloudia smiled one of her most beautiful smiles. “So… will you help me?”

 

***

 

_The last seven days had passed in the blink of an eye._

 

_I looked at the me in the mirror while the maids prepared me for my decoration._

_Every girl in Britain was raised to be a wife and a mother – a girl of nursery rhymes, a girl of elegance, and every man’s dreams. But to me, this world was none I could enter._

_No flowers in my hair, no carefree chatting with friends on every day of the week, no parties for fun._

_Today was the day on which I would completely turn my back on the life which would have awaited me if I had been deemed unworthy and too weak to become the Watchdog. Today was the day on which I would say goodbye to a life I could not even dream of having anymore. Today was the day on which I turned my face towards the darkness._

_For me there wouldn’t be a_ _“happily ever after”_ _waiting at the end – there would only be blood, murder, and nightmares. And I was ready for it. Because I was never meant to be on the side of light._

“Is she done?”

Barrington’s voice from behind the folding screen interrupted Cloudia’s stream of thoughts.

“Almost, Sir Barrington,” one of the maids said, quickly taking last hands to Cloudia’s hair and dress with the others helping her.

“Very well. If you are done, could you please leave us alone for a moment?”

“Of course, Sir Barrington,” another maid said, and when she and her colleagues were finished, they hurried to step out from behind the screen, politely bowed to Barrington, and left the room without another word.

As soon as they were gone, Cloudia came out from behind the folding screen, and Barrington’s eyes widened at her sight. “I have seen you in a lot of pretty dresses during the past six years,” he said, breathlessly, “but you had never looked so beautiful in any of them as you do right now – not even when you wore that white dress to the Queen’s wedding.”

Cloudia glimpsed at herself in the big mirror behind her. The dress was cream-coloured like she had wished it to be. The bodice and the short sleeves were covered in black lace, and small roses danced over the skirt. Her hair was up in a simple braided hair-do and vacant of any flowers, and her lips had been faintly painted red.

 

 

 _“_ _Tell me, glass, tell me true!_

 _“_ _Of all the ladies in the land,_

 _“_ _Who is fairest, tell me, who?”_

 _―_ Not you, not you. For creatures of the darkness are void of beauty. And no dress so beautiful it may be can cover a shadow’s emptiness.

_“The Royal advisers always call you that – the Phantomhive Demon. I have once listened to their mumble. And do you know why they call you that?_

_“Because someone in your family did something terrible and cursed his blood – and this cursed blood also flows in your veins._

_“So stop trying to be a hero – because you will never be one.”_

 

Cloudia turned away from the mirror. “If you say so,” she said, not allowing her voice to shake.

Barrington warmly smiled at her, not having noticed her slight fall into distress. “You know how I think of all of this. You know how I wish to see you like that on a day happier than this one. But I know how important this day is for you, how long you have waited for today – and I do not want to ruin your mood with my negativity.” He reached inside his suit jacket and retrieved a box. “I thought about giving it to you on your birthday, but I did not want to overwhelm you after the meeting with Mr and Mrs Dickens.” He handed her the box, and she took it, briefly blinking at it in curiosity before lifting the lit.

“It belonged to you father,” Barrington whispered as Cloudia took the item out of the box – a dagger, as long as her upper arm with a clean, shimmering blade and a black grip.

“Eleanor does not allow it that we talk about Simon in front of you, or that we give you anything which belonged to him, but I thought that, maybe, you would like to have his dagger. Si was a good Watchdog – and I want you not to see the dagger as a gift from me to you, but from Watchdog to Watchdog because no matter how things would have turned out, he would have always wanted you to have it.”

Cloudia tightened her grip around the dagger.

 

 

_“From Watchdog to Watchdog.”_

 

 

“I will let you alone now. You seem to want to think calmly about a few things. We will see each other in a few minutes, Dia.” Barrington was about to head out when Cloudia walked towards him, putting the box on a table but not letting go of the dagger. “No, stay for a minute.”

She twisted the Phantomhive ring on her finger, heaviness cradling her heart. Barrington stopped in his movement and turned back to her.

“I am sorry for what I said a month ago, for what I said seven days ago. I am sorry for having treated you like so badly. I wanted to apologise earlier but never had the opportunity to. I am sorry, Barrington,” Cloudia said, nearly suffocating on the heaviness suddenly filling her entire body but, this time, she gathered all her strength to fight it back.

Barrington smiled and wrapped his arms around her.

 

 

_When had been the last time we had hugged?_

 

 

“You do not have to apologise, Dia,” he whispered. “It is all right. I have never been angry at you. It is all right.” His embrace tightened. “You can do this, Cloudia Phantomhive, and I am glad that you will go out as yourself. I missed you.”

Cloudia’s eyes widened, and Barrington let her go. With one last smile – a smile made of sadness and happiness – he opened the door and left her alone in the dressing room.

 

***

 

_I used to dream of my perfect wedding. I used to dream about finding someone whom I could love and who could love me._

_I used to dream of a world with a_ _“happily ever after” – a world in which I was not free from society and rules but free to laugh and live like everyone else. A world in which I saw Kamden every day; a world in which my parents were by my side; a world in which I laughed and played with my cousins – a world in which the Phantomhives had never been chosen to serve the Royal family as Watchdogs._

_I did not dream of this world anymore._

 

_I walked to the throne, the Queen._

_I did not have a sceptre, did not have a royal orb, did not have a crown. But I had a dagger touched by blood, a ring haunted by souls, and a dark crown waiting for me._

_I was no girl of nursery rhymes, of elegance, and every man’s dreams. I was the Phantomhive Demon. I was the Watchdog of the Queen. I was Countess Cloudia Phantomhive._

_I curtsied in front of Victoria._

_I was the Queen’s shadow from now until my last breath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had no idea how hard this arc would be to write.
> 
> When I outlined WotQ, I suddenly thought "Hey! Wouldn't it be _fun_ to give inside to little Cloudia's life?" and added the Rise of the Watchdog Arc.
> 
> Well... it wasn't fun.
> 
> I don't regret writing it, though - it let me introduce Barrington, Penelope, Clifford, Thomas, Ilex, Wilbur (briefly), Celeste, and Kamden who will come back later in the story, and it let me further develop Cloudia's character and give her even more backstory. After all, WotQ is already her backstory, so this was the backstory to a backstory. It was just that in every chapter, Cloudia was a different person - when she was a different person when she met Barrington, she had changed until the Queen's wedding and the wedding changed her. In the 3rd chapter of this arc which was set only a few months after the 2nd, Cloudia went through another change.
> 
> The first arc had been set in the course of a year; the second arc was set in the course of _six years_. And a lot can happen in six years. And a lot did happen to little Cloudia.
> 
> While writing this arc, not only Cloudia changed but the story too. Kamden wasn't planned from the start, for example. I also wanted to focus "The Lady, Decorated" more on, well, _Cloudia's decoration_ , but in the end, it split into two independent chapters - that's why their names were changed. (Part 1 is now "The Lady, Best and Worst" and Part 2 is "The Lady, Thirteen Days")
> 
> Another thing is that I wanted to do a 2nd part of "The Lady, Childhood" and upload it before uploading this chapter, but the shorts turned out badly and I thought - can't I just address these things in later chapters? And, well, I can. So, you have to wait longer to find out why Cloudia does not like Constantia and Celeste, or why Kamden called her "Gladdy" in chapter 13, for example.
> 
> One more thing changed: This arc originally had two more chapters. They were supposed to be about Cloudia's first case, featuring the reason why she does not use her sword anymore and a proper introduction to Wilbur.
> 
> But why did I scrap these chapters? Because I am lazy? Because I did not want to go through the same hell as with the other 5 chapters? Because I missed writing Undertaker? And teen Cloudia?
> 
> Yes, partly - Yes, I admit it. But that's only part of the reason: I pondered if or if not to scrap these chapters after finishing this one. And why? Well, because I wrote most of this chapter very fast - I needed ages to finish the beginning and needed only a few days for the rest - and am proud of it, especially of the end because it was, to me, the perfect end to this arc.
> 
> This arc is called "Rise of the Watchdog Arc" - she has become the Watchdog now, and after the end of this chapter, it would have seemed silly to add two more. They didn't fit together anymore. That's why these two chapters were deleted.
> 
> But what does that mean?
> 
>  
> 
> _That the next update will be the first chapter of the third arc._
> 
>  
> 
> Guys, we have made it out of this arc! :D I am so happy!
> 
> I want to thank you all who stuck to this story until now - you are awesome! So much has happened in the past one and a half year. How often could I not write because school kept me busy? How often could I not write because my disorder drained me? How often did I think about dropping this FF?
> 
> Still, you are here - I hope! And I thank you. ^^ I thank you for all your views, subscriptions, kudos, and especially comments. These things always make me go on when I don't think I can anymore.
> 
> And now, this journey has taken us to the third arc!
> 
> An arc full of Undertaker and Cloudia. An arc introducing Cloudia's Aristocrats of Evil. An arc telling you about Simon Phantomhive.
> 
> And I hope you will continue this journey with me in the third arc:
> 
>  
> 
> _Hunter's Prey._


	19. The Countess, Restless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Start of the third arc which marks Cedric's main story return to WotQ :D

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi! Surprise :D The first chapter of the 3rd arc is already here!
> 
> Ah - three Watchdog updates in three weeks! Feels like Arc 1 times :) (If you ask yourself right now "Wait, what - _three_ chapters???": Yes, that wasn't a typo! I uploaded a bonus chapter called "The Earl, Reckless" (it's about Vincent! it's about the future!) separately. You can find it through the WotQ series tag.)
> 
> I don't think the next chapter will be done by next week though ^^'
> 
> I hope you like the start of the new arc! :D

_“A birthday is surely not a break – especially not for her.”_

* * *

 

 

 

 

**_HUNTER’S PREY ARC_ **

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

In April, the weather had a tendency to change rather often. Today, the sun had shone in the morning, followed by rain just before lunch. Now, it was sunny again – how would the weather be when Maven von Brandt, the Viscount of Meinkot-Velpke, would come? If you asked Cedric Rossdale, he would undoubtedly say that it would be terrific if it started to snow the instance the Viscount stepped through the entrance of Phantomhive Manor.

“It has never crossed my mind that your excitement of meeting Maven von Brandt could surpass the excitement of a child on Christmas morning,” Cloudia Phantomhive remarked, entering the drawing room with incredible grace and confidence in a dark blue dress, her handmaiden Lisa Greene closely following her.

Cedric hadn’t seen Cloudia for a while now – some business of which she hadn’t told him any details had sent her elsewhere in the last few days. He was happy that she was now back – it hadn’t been very entertaining to solely spend time with his fellow Grim Reapers.

“I have never met one of your business partners,” Cedric said, turning away from the window he stood in front of, “of course, I am excited, Countess.”

“He is not my business partner – he is coming to apply for the job as Evil Nobleman.”

“It doesn’t matter if he’s just a _potential_ colleague – I am still excited to meet him.”

“If he lives through the interview, you may see him more often.”

Cedric grinned. “Poor boy – why must you be so hard to everyone? Good that _I_ didn’t have to do a job interview.”

Cloudia adjusted her dark gloves. “Don’t forget to behave like a decent person or the Viscount will run away before finishing his tea.”

“When am I _not_ behaving like a decent person, Countess?”

“Ask Lisa this question and wait for your answer.”

There was a soft knock on the door. “The Viscount of Meinkot-Velpke has arrived, Lady Cloudia,” Alfred Newman announced from the doorsill, bowing. He stepped aside and revealed a man in his early thirties behind him. Maven von Brandt had dark blond hair and green eyes, and when he walked towards Cloudia, bowing in front of her and kissing the hand she held out to him, he had a charming smile on his face.

“Welcome, Lord von Brandt,” Cloudia greeted him. “How are you? How is your wife doing?”

“Manon and I are doing very well. Thank you,” Maven said when he was standing again, the smile not leaving his lips. “It is a pleasure to be able to meet you, Lady Phantomhive.” He turned to Cedric and briefly bowed towards him. “And you too, Your Grace. It is so rare to encounter the two of you at any festivities – you are ghosts among the guests.”

“But you did encounter my contact – Lady Cecelia Williams,” Cloudia replied. “But before we start our conversation properly – let us sit down. My cook surpassed himself with the preparation of our afternoon tea.” She gestured towards a small rectangular table around which they sat down – Cloudia at the front, Cedric right next to her, and Maven at the end.

 

 

_Cloudia was right – Armstrong had put a lot of effort into our food. There was a cake with almonds covered in powdered sugar on top, a rhubarb cake with very thin slices of almonds lying on it, and small peach tarts with whipped cream. Beside the cakes, there was also a bowl of cherries, another one filled with apricots, and various nut biscuits – cashew, peanut, and almond biscuits to be exact. Along with the food, there was also Earl Grey tea._

_It was rather challenging not to stuff myself with the food in front of Maven._

 

 

Cloudia took one of the peach tarts after Maven had taken one. For a short while, the three of them only ate in silence as Maven and Cedric waited for Cloudia to speak first, but, for some reason, she did not seem to want to hurry.

Maven put more sugar into his tea before drinking it, having already put a few teaspoons into it.

 

 

_He seemed to have as much of a sweet tooth as I had. I preferred to drink my tea without sugar though. If Cloudia were to consult me whether or not to hire him, I would definitely speak in his favour._

 

 

“Lady Williams has already told me a few things about you,” Cloudia finally started, setting down her cup after taking a sip. “She said that you are interested in becoming one of the Earl of Phantomhive’s Aristocrats of Evil – and I am asking myself the question: How does it come that you know about this position, Lord von Brandt?”

“The Queen’s Watchdog is a legend,” Maven said, straightening his back. “If you prick your ears or are naturally observant, you can hear the murmurs – ‘there is a noble working for Her Majesty and watching over the Underworld.’ But it takes more than that to find out if these murmurs are of the truth, and if they are _who_ said Noble is.”

He poured himself a new cup of tea and put sugar in it before taking a quick sip.

“I followed these mumbles, these _legends_ to their roots and devoted many hours to research. I found out that said Watchdog surrounded himself with a group of Aristocrats who helped him with executing his duty, and I wondered – could I become one of them?”

“What a dreamer you are, Mylord,” Cloudia remarked, dipping a cashew biscuit in her tea and taking a bite. Cedric did not add anything to the conversation but listened intently while quietly working himself through the piles of cakes, fruits, and biscuits which were a little bit more sweet than usual.

“I would not designate myself as a ‘dreamer,’ Mylady,” Maven meant. “I am simply always striving to get the most out of something interesting.”

“This attitude of yours must surely benefit your company,” Cloudia said, and he smiled. “After all, it lets you spend hours over hours for private little projects and forget about your actual work.”

Maven’s smile fell, and Cloudia’s rose. Cedric suppressed a giggle.

“No reason to look so glum,” she said, “I am only teasing.”

The Viscount sighed in relief. “Of course, Lady Phantomhive.”

“Please continue – how exactly did your research lead you to Cecelia?”

“It didn’t – Lady Williams was the one to find _me_. She must have found out about what I was doing and approached me one day at a party.”

“She is a very observant woman – that’s why she became one of the Aristocrats of Evil.”

He nodded and rubbed his neck. “Yes, she is… very fine. Lady Williams informed me about the Earl – that he is the Watchdog of the Queen, but that I should not seek him but his fiancée.”

“My cousin is not very sociable,” Cloudia said. “I am his messenger – if you want to meet him, you need my permission, but can you earn it?”

“I hope I can.”

“No certainty?”

Maven cleared his throat. “I am certain that I can.”

“There’s one thing the Earl despises – arrogance. That’s one of the many reasons why he does not go out – the arrogance of people.”

He paled.

“I am teasing – that is part of the test, Lord von Brandt.”

“Oh.” Maven slightly rubbed his face. “Of course.”

“It’s fine – you are doing better than the others when they came to meet me.”

“I am?”

She smiled at him. “No.”

The Viscount’s expression darkened again, and Cloudia chuckled. “A tease, Mylord! His Grace had to go through the same procedure as you.”

“He did? He is one of the Aristocrats?”

“Why else should he be here?”

“Do not worry, Lord von Brandt,” Cedric said, “Lady Cloudia is a very irritating person, but with time you will get used to her.”

“I am rather certain of it,” Maven replied, and Cedric chortled. “You are? Because I am not. I have known her for over a year now, and I still did not get used to her.”

“Stop irritating him even further,” Cloudia told Cedric. She looked back at Maven and smiled sweetly. “I am sorry. I could not help myself. Let us continue – I have looked into you, and you are a remarkable man, Lord von Brandt. You could be an excellent addition to the Aristocrats.”

“You are giving me your permission?”

Cloudia took a sip. “Only if you can still walk.”

“I don’t understand, why shou…” Maven began but stopped when his arms suddenly started to spasm. Cedric stared at the scene in front of him, seeing Maven’s confused and pained expression and his attempts to control his arms which were in vain. He jumped up from his chair and hurried to Maven. Lisa and Newman who had silently stood in the background during the entire conversation seemingly did not even think to move. Cedric looked at Maven whose legs had also begun to spasm before looking at Cloudia who calmly finished her tea.

“Maven von Brandt – I am sorry to tell you this, but you seem to have been poisoned,” she said, putting down her cup. “But how? What could have poisoned you? If you can give me the correct answer, I will pardon you.”

 

 

 _I stared at Cloudia – what was she_ doing _? What the hell was going on?_

 

 

Maven fell backwards alongside his chair, his limbs moving uncontrollably and his face covered in sweat. Cedric had caught him before he hit the ground.

“No idea? That’s bad. It seems that we don’t have much time left – I have never thought that your stamina was so poor!” Cloudia exclaimed, ignoring him. “Could you do me a favour and hold on for a few minutes, Maven? So that you can hear the solution before you leave? Yes? Thank you.

“So… what could have poisoned you? One of the cakes? It is true that almonds can kill, but only if they are old and not properly prepared. And the rhubarb and the peach? Well, only the leaves of rhubarbs are poisonous! And so are the pits of peaches. However, there are neither rhubarb leaves nor peach pits around which means that that cannot be the solution, right?

“How about the biscuits? We have already established that almonds can kill, but they are not the reason you are in this state right now. How about the cashew and peanut biscuits then? Cashews are only harmful to humans when eaten raw, and peanuts only when you are allergic – are you allergic to peanuts, Maven? No, of course not. If you were, you would have expanded into a hot air balloon.

“Did you know that the first untethered manned flight with such a balloon had been done by Jean-François Pilâtre de Rozier and François Laurent d’Arlandes on November 21, 1783, in Paris, France? And that said balloon had been crafted by the Montgolfier brothers – Joseph-Michel and Jacques-Étienne Montgolfier? This is a lot of French, right? Did you know that my cook is French – the cakes, the peach tarts were lovingly baked after French recipes –, and that I am part French myself? My grandmother was one – Genevieve, not Hortense. Hortense does not like me.

“Oh, sorry for rambling. Where was I? Right – from cakes and tarts to biscuits to… the fruits.

“Have the cherries and, or the apricots done this to you? No, of course, they haven’t. They would have only ended your life if you had chewed on their pits like an idiot or an ignorant child – you are not a child, but are you an idiot? _Are_ you an idiot, Maven?”

Cloudia poured herself another cup of tea before holding it up. “So, was it the tea?” She took a sip and put it down. “No, it wasn’t – just like it wasn’t any food. If I had gone and sprinkled poison on the food, would I have eaten anything? Would have let the Duke eat anything? Yes, I did not tell my plan to the Duke – his dumb folded expression is genuine. Hm… well, to be honest, I am not sure if I had stopped Duke from eating anything, would I have poisoned the food.

“But what in hell’s kitchen could have made you suffer this agony?” She took off her right glove and grinned. “Did I put poison on my glove which I let you kiss? Did I?” Maven twisted in Cedric’s arms.

“No, I didn’t,” Cloudia answered herself, putting the glove on again. “The amount you could have transferred from my glove to your lips wouldn’t have sufficed. But what else have I done, dearest Maven?” She cleared her throat.

“‘What are little boys made of / What are little boys made of / Snips and snails / And puppy-dogs’ tails / And such are little boys made of’ – do you know this rhyme? Do you know how it continues?

“‘What are young women made of / Sugar and spice and all things nice’ – and sugar and spice is what the poison is made of. Well, except the fact that it wasn’t sugar to begin with – at least not entirely.

“A white powder with a bitter taste whose source is the tree _nux vomica_ and whose taste had to be concealed with bits of sugar.

“Most people don’t know it – but just like salt, sugar can dehydrate our body. The food – every single one of them except the apricots and cherries were slightly sweeter than usual. Normal people would not have noticed it, but I am sure that the Duke did – he has a very sweet tooth, you have to know.

“The added sugar was so subtle that you didn’t notice it, but it was still enough to make you dehydrate a bit faster. And what do you do when you dehydrate? Right, you drink – too bad that you have the habit of sweetening your tea. Is Earl Grey too dark for you, Maven? The Duke, however, while loving everything sweet likes his tea dark, and I knew better than to add any sugar.

“Another name for nux vomica, you ask? Strychnine tree.”

Cloudia’s gaze darkened. “Mavey, Mavey, Mavey – did you think you could make a fool out of me? The Viscount of Meinkot-Velpke – owner of Velpke Industries and various illegal brothels filled with underage, kidnapped girls and boys which are being raided while we talk with the help of my beloved Aristocrats of Evil. And do not think we would spare your darling wife Manon von Brandt – after all, we know very well that she was your partner-in-crime.

“There is no secret safe from me, Mavey – and as I know yours I will tell you mine. The nobleman, the source of the legend you have searched for so long? For so long that you have let your carefully woven cover moulder? But do not be afraid: You will not pass away without having met the mysterious Watchdog of the Queen – for she was right in front of you all along.

“I wonder, Mavey, if the boys and girls in your brothels felt as helpless and lost as you do right now when they were being ravished?

“Mavey – how does it feel not to be the master of your own body anymore?”

When Cloudia finished her tea and rose from her chair, rigour mortis had already befallen Maven von Brandt’s dead body. Cedric let him fall on the ground.

 

 

_I didn’t want to touch this piece of shit any longer._

 

 

He looked up and saw Cloudia leaving the drawing room and Lisa and Newman following her. Cedric took out his Death Scythe and collected Maven’s soul.

 

 

_I had wondered why I had not seen his name in the Death Book when I had gone through it, but as soon as the tip of my scythe touched him, I knew why._

_Apparently, Maven’s real name was Meradinus Shallow, but he had kept introducing himself as “Maven Shallow” early on to escape his terrible first name. And after he had married Manon von Brandt, he had adopted, albeit not officially, her surname._

_Cloudia must have found about this name charade when she had looked into his files._

 

**Meradinus Shallow**

**Birth: December 13, 1816**

**Death: April 4, 1848**

**Cause of death: strychnine poisoning; exhaustion**

 

 

When he was done, Cedric quickly left the drawing room to talk to Cloudia.

“Countess!” he called when he had caught up with her. “Why didn’t you tell me that Meradinus is Maven?”

“It would have been less convincing if I had,” Cloudia replied.

“And I thought that I had finally met one of the Aristocrats even if only a potential one.”

“That’s such a pity.”

“Wasn’t this even a bit too harsh for your standards, Countess?” Cedric said.

“Lisa asked me for it.”

He raised an eyebrow. “ _Miss Greene_ asked you for it?”

“Do not repeat my own words – if I had wanted a parrot, I would have bought me one,” Cloudia told him. “And yes, she did. Lisa holds a special grudge towards such men. I wanted to let him and his wife be assassinated in his sleep – fast, silent, and without real effort –, but then, Lisa came to me and proposed the idea with the food and the poison; she even told me which props to use. How could I possibly say ‘no’ to her? So we went with her idea. That’s the reason why Lisa was in the parlour in the first place – after all, there never was any reason for her to be there, right? She didn’t do anything, after all. She wanted to watch, wanted to see Maven die as pathetically as possible and hear what I would tell him.”

“Miss Greene knows about poisons?”

“What did you think? That I only employed her because of her talent in making dresses?”

“I actually believed that you employed her because she was the only person you’ve ever encountered who was a match for you in the ‘Who glares the best?’ competition,” Cedric said, and Cloudia punched him.

“Lisa’s mother was an herb witch and taught her all she knew.”

 

 

_A few months ago, I would have asked her how she had met Miss Greene when I had the chance, but now, I couldn’t do it anymore. After all, we had already gone through Alfred’s story, and it surely hadn’t been a good one. I didn’t know if I would ever be ready for Miss Greene’s._

 

 

Cedric grinned at her, pushing his thought away. “I still cannot believe it that you had to put on such a show today just because it’s your last shenanigan before turning eighteen – ‘They would have only ended your life if you had chewed on their pits like an idiot or an ignorant child – you are not a child, but are you an idiot? _Are_ you an idiot, Maven?’ Hi hi. You even recited a nursery rhyme!”

 

 

_I hoped that she did not think that I had forgotten that tomorrow was April 5 – her birthday! I had even gone and got her a present. It had taken me days to find something nice, and I hoped that she would like it._

 

 

“I guess I’ve spent too much time with you.”

“Will your family come like last year?” he wanted to know. “It was so funny with them.”

“No, they won’t,” Cloudia answered. “They shouldn’t even have come last year – they simply came and sabotaged my plans. This year, however, I made sure that they would stay at home and not even get in the _area_ of Phantomhive Manor.”

“What plans did you even have last year?”

“The same ones as this year.”

“Locking yourself in your bedroom with your birthday cake and tonnes of tea, not talking to anyone until the next day, and only reading every Dickens novel you possess in candlelight?”

Cedric’s words brought a little smile out of Cloudia. It was such a rare sight to see her genuinely smile – and every time, it warmed his heart.

 

 

_I could listen to her laugh all day; I could look at her joyful face forever._

 

 

“I admit that it sounds great, but that’s not my plan,” she said, pushing open the door to her chambers.

“And what is it then?”

Cloudia let herself fall into an armchair in her anteroom, and Cedric laid down on a couch opposite from her.

“You don’t have to know because you are not part of it,” Cloudia meant, leaning back. “Actually, you aren’t even supposed to come tomorrow, like you weren’t last year.”

“Why? I have even got you a present!”

“You can give it to me the day after tomorrow.”

“You only don’t want to share your bir–”

The look in Cloudia’s eyes made him stop talking. “Please, Undertaker – I need this day to rest.”

 

 

 _I wanted to make a joke, to tease her, but I couldn’t. The way she had said these words – I had never heard her talking like that. It almost sounded like… like she was_ begging _me._

 _Whatever was bothering her, whatever was there which I could not see was_ serious _. And I could not bear to see her like that._

 

 

“All right,” Cedric said with a low voice. “Then, we will see each other in two days.”

Cloudia smiled faintly, and only now he noticed how exhausted she looked, and he wondered what he had missed. “We will see each other in two days, then.”

 

 

***

 

 

The next day, Cedric’s head hurt when he woke up. He rolled around in his bed for a while, wanting to get a few more minutes of sleep, but he couldn’t. Groaning, Cedric fell from his bed and stood up before stumbling towards his wardrobe.

 

 

 _Sometimes, I wished that I could bring Cloudia here – just like today. She_ _would surely be amazed by all the things Grim Reapers possessed, but people from this time didn’t._

 

 

Absentmindedly, Cedric grabbed a fresh shirt and a pair of trousers. He quickly took off his nightgown and carelessly tossed it into the wardrobe.

 

 

_She loved to talk about things she thought were important. She could fill hours talking about plants or the history of a place; and while I didn’t really care about these things, I greatly enjoyed the look on her face when she spoke about them. If she could unpack her knowledge, Cloudia always became immensely enthusiastic, and her face lit up, and she started to shine. Her whole expression and even the atmosphere around her would completely change. Usually, she was grumpy and stiff, but at these times a different part of her came out._

 

 

With the fresh clothes in his hands, Cedric walked into the bathroom, washed up, got dressed, and combed his hair after blow-drying it. Washing, drying, and combing his hair always took a lot of time, but he still didn’t want to cut it.

 

 

_Cloudia was such a little dork sometimes ‒ she would definitely jump up and down at the sight of the advanced technology the Grim Reaper had like the futuristic furniture, the light clothing, the instant food, the television, the microwave, etc. Perhaps she would die out of joy when seeing the computers and the automatic library._

 

 

He grinned.

 

 

_But no matter how excited she would be when seeing the automatic library and the e-book readers, she would never love them more than classical libraries and bound books. This part of her heart had already been filled and couldn’t be reclaimed._

 

 

Cedric collected his hair and grabbed a ribbon from his pile to fixate it.

 

 

_She would surely have this look in her eyes which I loved so much if she could be here and explore all these things._

 

 

Cedric stopped in his movement when he realised what he had just thought. His arms fell to his sides and his hair loosely over his shoulders. He stared at his reflection in utter horror.

 

 

 _Had I just thought that I_ loved _it when she was so enthusiastic? That I_ loved _it when her eyes shone? That I_ loved _her little talks?_

_I shook my head. This was… ridiculous. I hadn’t fallen in love with Cloudia. I wasn’t in love with her. I liked her because she could always find ways to make me laugh even though she hadn’t intended to. I liked her because it was nice to have her around – to have someone to talk to. To have someone to tease. To have someone by my side._

 

 

“What am I _thinking_?” Cedric said to his reflection and finished doing his hair. He walked back into his bedroom, took the Death Book from his bedside cabinet, and went to the living room.

Cedric let himself fall onto a couch and flipped through the pages to see what he had to do today.

 

 

**Evangeline May**

**Birth: December 1, 1800**

**Death: April 5, 1848**

**Cause of death: fell down and was impaled**

 

**Lucas Warren**

**Birth: March 22, 1795**

**Death: April 5, 1848**

**Cause of death: run over by a carriage**

 

**Shade Haven**

**Birth: February 2, 1829**

**Death: April 5, 1848**

**Cause of death: stabbed to death**

 

_Wow. Only three souls to collect on my schedule._

 

 

Then, Cedric looked up what he would have to do tomorrow; and when he saw his workload for the next day, he could only stare at the page.

 

 

Thirty-five souls? Who even makes these unbalanced schedules? _I thought._

_I wouldn’t be able to meet Cloudia tomorrow like that. I touched the skull pendant I always wore around my neck, but it seemed that she wasn’t wearing hers. She always wore it and not even on her birthday Cloudia would sleep in. So – why wasn’t she wearing her necklace today of all days?_

 

 

Cedric dropped his journal.

 

 

_What… What if something had happened to her?_

 

 

Panicking, Cedric stuffed the book into his pocket and vanished.

 

 

***

 

 

Cloudia Phantomhive’s anteroom was as tidy as always when Cedric appeared inside it. He stormed into her bedroom, but it was untouched, and no one was there.

“Countess?” he called with a voice whose shrillness was muffled in his ears. He hurried into her dressing room, and the familiar scent nearly let him vomit.

Without closing any door, Cedric left her chambers and ran through the corridor. “Countess?” There was no answer.

 

 

_There were no servants around – why were no servants around?_

 

 

With his heart beating too fast in his chest, Cedric opened and closed the doors of every room he was passing by. “Countess?” he asked when opening every door. And with every empty room, his hope decreased more and more. Without being able to do anything, old memories came back to him, and he didn’t find the strength to push them away again.

 

 

_No, no, no… they couldn’t have left me alone._

_Not again. Not again. I didn’t want to be alone again._

_“Ced – I am sorry…”_

 

 

“Countess?” Cedric said, too tired to shout anymore. “Alfred? Miss Greene?” He fell against a wall. “Where are you?”

 

 

_Why? Why? Why? Why did it always have to happen to me?_

_Why Cloudia? Why Alfred, why Miss Greene? What had they done? What had happened – and_ why _?_

 

_“Ced – I am sorry…”_

_“Ceddie – it is time to wake up!”_

_“Mr Cedric, are you all right?”_

_“I am sorry that we haven’t told you anything earlier, Cedric.”_

_“Have you heard what happened to Cedric Rossdale’s partner? He was…”_

 

 

“What are you doing here, Undertaker?”

The voice made Cedric flinch out of his thoughts and look up. There she was – Cloudia Phantomhive, beautiful in her dark dress, beautiful with her braided hair, beautiful and well.

Cedric couldn’t remember that he had moved; he only knew that, in the next moment, he had his arms around Cloudia and hugged her tightly.

 

 

_She was all right. Everything was fine, fine, fine…_

 

 

“Undertaker? What is wrong?” she wanted to know, and he took a step back but did not withdraw his arms from her as if he wanted to make sure that she was really there and not going anywhere.

Cloudia looked at him with puzzlement in her face. Cedric needed a while to finally catch his voice again and speak. “I…”

 

 

_“I was so worried that I had lost you. That I had gone and you were no more. That you had left me like all the others had.”_

 

 

“I wanted to surprise you,” Cedric said and grinned. “Happy birthday, Countess.”

She glared at him, and his grin widened.

“By the way, where are the others? Alfred? Miss Greene? Armstrong, and the other servants?” he asked. “I walked around, searching for you, but I didn’t encounter anyone.”

“Lisa and Newman are outside,” she answered him. “They are preparing a carriage.”

Cedric frowned. “Carriage? Why?” Only now, his gaze wandered to her hand, and he saw that Cloudia was carrying a rather long suitcase made of dark wood.

“Are you going somewhere?”

She looked at the suitcase. “No. Well, yes, I do. But I won’t take this with me. I was just on my way to put this suitcase somewhere where I won’t have to see it anymore.”

“My, my – what is inside it that you don’t want to see it ever again?”

“A terrible birthday joke from Barrington,” Cloudia mumbled, and her grip around the suitcase tightened that her knuckles came out white.

“Who is Barrington?”

“Just the worst Aristocrat of Evil I have.”

Cedric’s face lit up. “And all this time, I’ve believed that you considered _me_ to be the worst.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she replied and walked past him. Cedric followed her. “If you don’t like him, why don’t you fire him? Or do the same you did to Maven von Brandt?”

“Oh, I would _love_ to do that, but Barrington’s part of my father’s inheritance – they were best friends and fellow Evil Noblemen. He has been with me for my entire life.”

She suddenly stopped and turned to Cedric. “I would prefer it if you left right away, but knowing you, you won’t. So, please, just wait in the anteroom. I have to put this away on my own.”

“What could be inside it that you don’t want me to see?” he said and jokingly reached out to it, but Cloudia quickly jumped back, and for a split second, he saw horror on her face before it was replaced by anger and, then, exhaustion.

She rubbed her temple. “Do that again, and I will make sure that you will die a second time.”

He stared at her, and her face softened. “I am sorry. I will be right back. Just wait for me, okay?” she said and left.

 

 

***

 

 

_Why did it take her so long?_

 

 

Cedric laid on the couch in the anteroom, staring at the ceiling. He had no idea how long he was waiting, but in the last minutes, he had nearly fallen asleep thrice.

 

 

_She couldn’t have got lost in her own home, but she didn’t seem to feel very well today, so everything was possible. I should go and see after her._

 

 

He rolled from the couch and went to the door. Cedric opened it, took a step outside – and looked right into a pair of dark blue eyes.

He blinked – sharp dark blue eyes, pale skin, black hair, high cheekbones, soft lips. In front of him didn’t stand Cloudia but a boy who looked just like her.

“Countess? Is that you?” he said. “What happened? You are suddenly a boy – does it have to do with the content of the suitcase? Countess?”

“Ah… uh…” the boy – Cloudia? – stuttered and turned red. Cedric opened his mouth to say something, but then, he saw Cloudia at the end of the corridor. Her eyes widened when she saw Cedric and the boy – and the boy’s eyes lit up when he followed Cedric’s gaze and saw her. Cloudia walked towards the boy.

 

 

_Who was he? Now, I was completely confused._

 

 

“Beth wyt ti’n gwneud yma?” Cedric could hear Cloudia whisper to the boy when she reached him, and it confused him even more. They kept on talking quite animatedly in this weirdly familiar sounding language until Cedric finally remembered where he had heard it before.

“You liar!” he yelled, and both Cloudia and the boy turned their attention to Cedric.

“When we were in Wales, you told me that you couldn’t speak Welsh! You pronounced ‘Bore da’ all wrong, and now, you are speaking it fluently with your male doppelganger?” Cedric stared at the boy who looked quite uneasy and averted his gaze.

“Don’t stare at him,” Cloudia told Cedric, her voice without any proper strength. “You are scaring him.”

“Wölkchen, yw bod Duke Kristopher Underwood?” the boy asked, and Cedric said, “You told _him_ about me, but you told me _nothing_ about him? Who is Doppelganger Boy Countess anyway?”

“Don’t call him that.”

“Why not? I have to call him something, right? And I don’t know his name, so…” Cedric paused when a small thought crept to the surface of his mind. “Oh – wait. Could it be that you don’t want me to call him ‘Doppelganger Boy Countess’ because not he but you are the doppelganger? Does that mean that, all along, there _had_ been a real Earl of Phantomhive walking on Earth? I mean, you look so much alike – how _can’t_ you be related?”

Cloudia closed her eyes. “Duke, please…”

To Cedric’s surprise, the boy stepped forward, his shoulders shaking slightly, and said, “I am not the Earl of Phantomhive. My name is Kamden Sainteclare, and I am Cloudia’s Almost Twin. We were born on the same day in the same year, only a few metres and a few minutes apart. We met by chance when she and Sir Barrington came to my bookstore.” He bowed in front of Cedric. “Cloudia told me a lot about you, Your Grace, and I am honoured to finally make your acquaintance after all the time you have worked with my sister.”

Dumbfounded, Cedric slowly nodded. “Uh… yes, it is also a pleasure to meet you, Mr Sainteclare.”

“Kamden,” he said. “I would never allow someone from a higher rank to address me in such a formal manner.” Kamden Sainteclare turned to Cloudia who looked at him and Cedric before saying, “Can you please head to the parlour? I will join you in a few minutes.”

 

 

***

 

 

_I had no idea which day had been odder – yesterday or today. Undoubtedly, however, was that something was wrong with Cloudia – for a reason she kept for herself, she behaved so strangely. I wanted to know what was wrong with her; I wanted to help her to get better – she was looking more and more drained ever since she had returned from her trip. I wanted her to be fine again._

_Why had it always bothered me so much so see her as weak as a kitten?_

 

 

“Your Grace?” Kamden said and snapped Cedric out of his thoughts.

“Hm, yes?”

“May I… May I talk to you about Cloudia’s condition for a while until she joins us?”

Cedric blinked at him. “Yes, sure, go ahead.”

“Am I right in my assumption that she has never told you anything about her medical condition?” Kamden asked and paused for a minute. “Judging from the expression you are currently making; I would say that I am.

“I know that what I have just said evoked questions in your mind, but I am afraid that I cannot answer any of them to you. This is a very personal matter to Cloudia, and I am not in the position to give away this part of herself without her consent. I am terribly sorry, Your Grace.”

“It is fine, Kamden,” Cedric replied. “But if you cannot answer my questions, why are you telling me all this?”

Kamden clutched his hands together. “Some… some… something ha-happened one week ago, and now… and now, her condition is rapidly worsening. Have you noticed anything odd about her, Your Grace?”

“I have only seen her yesterday for the first time again; and yesterday, she behaved like always – or, well, at least, it seemed like she did. In fact, she… she exaggerated the show; she exaggerated herself. And in the next moment, she fell powerless into a chair,” Cedric said, and Kamden nodded.

“It is just like you have said – whenever she behaves normally, she puts on a show. But then, this raises the question what is actually her ‘normal behaviour.’ But we do not have time to deepen this part of the conversation.

“Cloudia’s mother, Dowager Countess Phantomhive, was an actress, and Cloudia always loved acting. She is acting right now to conceal the fact that she is feeling the worst in years. But no matter how good she is, she does not manage to hold the act anymore as she let it eat her from the inside for too long now and she started to crumble. Cloudia is a very strong person, but even the strongest persons have their shadows – and hers is currently chasing her faster than ever before.

“Cloudia is never feeling very well around this time of the year, but she keeps pushing herself because of me – because she feels like she cannot ruin another birthday to me. It was planned that she would visit me today, but I didn’t want her to travel in her condition. That’s why I came here instead. You have seen her earlier… usually, she wouldn’t let things go so easily; usually, she wouldn’t let anyone speak for her.”

Cedric gulped. “What happened one week ago? Where was she in the last days?”

 

 

_Knowing Cloudia, it had to be something enormous. She would never get thrown off the lane because of something small. But what could it be?_

 

 

Kamden hesitated. “I… I cannot tell you. I am sorry, Your Grace.”

“It’s all right. But again – why are you telling me all this when you shouldn’t be telling me all this?”

He stared onto the table and clutched his hands tighter. “Because she needs to talk to someone – but she neither wants to talk to me nor to Sir Barrington or anyone else. We rarely get to see her now; she does not allow us to meet her so often anymore. But… but… but…” Kamden clutched and unclutched his hands. “But the-then Clou-Cloudia told me… me a-about you. Tha-that you are her bus-business partner now, and that, thaaat you spend, spend a lot of ti-time together. And, and…”

“Take a deep breath, Kamden,” Cedric said rather concerned about the boy. He had only known him for a while now, but he still couldn’t help himself but feel solicitude for him. “When you do it, your belly has to rise; if only your chest rises, it won’t calm you down.”

Kamden closed his eyes and did what he was told before he opened them again and continued, “The manor is so empty right now because nobody can know about me – Cloudia does not want me to get dragged into her world because she is certain that if anyone finds out about me, they will use me against her. That’s why I cannot stay by her side all the time even though I want to – but you can go in and out and meet Cloudia all you like, so I hope that I am not bothering you, but I want you to look after her until she is feeling better.” Kamden wanted to say more, but the door to the drawing room opened, and Cloudia came in. She was carrying a tray, and immediately, Kamden jumped up and helped her with it. He looked at the things on the tray and, for a split second, incredible worry flashed in his eyes, but Cedric had still been able to see it.

 

 

_I wondered what was so worrisome about what was on the tray. It was only three cups, a teacup, and some biscuits and cucumber sandwiches – nothing out of the ordinary. Could he see something wrong about these things that I couldn’t?_

 

 

Kamden put the tray on the table, and Cloudia asked, “What were you talking about? Kamden looked rather nervous when I came in. I mean, he usually looks nervous, but he looked especially nervy a minute ago.”

“I was trying to ask His Grace about his unusual clothes,” Kamden said, and only now, Cedric remembered that he was wearing his _Grim Reaper_ clothes. They were a bit too big for him and all in black. The cut was none to be found in this time and age, and then, of course, there were his boots: They looked odd, were terribly long, and possessed far too many clasps.

 

 

_In my hurry, I had not wasted a thought on to get changed. Whatever – I couldn’t stay for too long anyway. I had to collect my first soul of the day in less than two hours._

 

 

“The Duke has a terrible sense of fashion,” Cloudia said, sitting down. “If it weren’t for me, he would go around like this and make a fool out of himself.” She turned to Kamden. “What did Barrington give you this year? Barm brack again?”

He nodded. “A carriage full of it.”

Cloudia sighed and shook her head. “He always overdoes it.”

“And what did he get you?”

She grimaced. “A joke – the most terrible joke he has ever made.”

“What is up with this Barrington person?” Cedric wanted to know, quickly changing the topic.

“After we had found Kam, Barrington became his legal guardian,” Cloudia said. “And Barrington Weaselton is known to be a horrible gift giver. Ever since he did _not_ fail at finding a suitable present, he gets Kamden a ridiculous amount of Barm brack every year. And before you ask – Barm brack is a Welsh sweet bread.”

“One day, he once gave me a cup from which you can impossibly drink,” Kamden said, causing Cloudia to smile a little bit.

“He once got me mismatched socks,” she joined in.

“Once, Sir Barrington got us all matching jumpers,” Kamden told Cedric, and Cloudia added, “But they were all in the same size! They were too big for Kam and me, and too small for Barrington.”

 

 

_They weren’t related, but to me, it seemed they were._

 

 

“The Countess is not the best gift giver either,” Cedric said, grinning. “She gave me a hairbrush for my birthday last month.”

“You have very long hair, Duke,” Cloudia pointed out. “You need a hairbrush.”

“Yes, I have long hair – but a hairbrush is still a terrible birthday gift.”

“It is a _thoughtful_ gift if the person you give it to is in dire need of one.”

“It isn’t a _thoughtful_ gift if said receiving person knows very well about his hair length.”

“It _is_ a thoughtful gift if this person may have hair so long that hairbrushes become unusable rather quickly.”

“It _isn’t_ a thoughtful gift if this person has a cupboard full of hairbrushes because everyone keeps giving him one for his birthday and Christmas for _decades_.”

She scowled at him, and his grin widened while Kamden blinked at both of them.

“So… when can I meet Barrington Weaselton?” Cedric wanted to know.

“Never,” Cloudia said without hesitation, and Kamden hesitated to nod at her answer. “You are two persons who should definitely never end up in the same room.”

 

 

_We talked about silly presents until I had to go, and I was happy that Kamden and I had managed to distract Cloudia from the something which was bothering her. Even at least for a while._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter after "The Reaper, Encounter" in which Cedric is the sole narrator. I wanted to add Cloudia's POV too but decided against it because she would definitely grapple with whatever is clawing on her nerves right now - and you shouldn't know it so quickly :) But what could it be? Can you guess?
> 
>  
> 
> ~~She found out what happened in the last few chapters of Kuroshitsuji~~
> 
>  
> 
> Ah - and did someone get the very obvious name references? XD (Who gets them right will get a character named after them in the next chapters :D Or, alternatively, can provide a character for the next chapters of this arc!)
> 
> The part in which Cedric and Cloudia talk about the brush is a homage to the part in "Skulduggery Pleasant: Mortal Coil" in which Skulduggery and Valkyrie talk about Valkyrie's terrible gift (a hairbrush).
> 
> I put together the Welsh with WordHippo and Google Translate. (That's rather sinful, I know :/ )  
> Cloudia says "What are you doing here?" to Kamden; and Kamden says "Wölkchen, is that Duke Kristopher Underwood?" to Cloudia.
> 
> Rigor mortis usually occurs after 4 hours - but when you die of strychnine poisoning it starts almost immediately.
> 
> This chapter had also rather... personal aspects in it. ._.
> 
> And - birthday bingo :D I've written about Cloudia's birthday in three different arcs now. If I ever upload _another_ chapter about her birthday, I've probably turned crazy.
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter :)


	20. The Countess, Captured

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _I dedicate this chapter to my brother because it's his birthday today. He has no idea that I am writing this (I mean both the FF and dedication) but if some very odd galactic coincidences ever make him go through the Kuroshitsuji AO3 tag and read a lengthy Cloudia/Undertaker FF: Happy 26th birthday, you hiding-birthday-presents-under-pillows-dork._  
> 

_“Everyone can break.”_

* * *

 

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_The clock was ticking._

_Right before I had gone to sleep yesterday, I had received a message from Cloudia via the skull pendant that I should take tomorrow off and come to the manor at twelve o’clock. Now, I was sitting in the manor’s library, staring at a grandfather’s clock on the far opposite wall._

_Alfred had welcomed me when I had arrived and told me that I should wait for Cloudia in the library. I was sitting here for almost an hour now, and I honestly wondered if she had forgotten about me._

 

 

“Hello, Undertaker,” Cloudia said when she finally arrived ten minutes later.

 

 

_I had last seen her five days ago on her birthday, and back then, she had not looked very well. But she had still looked better than right now: her hair and clothes were as orderly as ever, but she looked shockingly pale as if she hadn’t slept for days, as if she had been drained of all colours._

 

 

“Are you fine, Countess?” Cedric asked when he followed her through the corridors.

“I am as fine as the circumstances allow it,” she answered, keeping her eyes locked in front of her.

“And how fine do the circumstances allow you to be? I guess not much because you look awful.”

She stopped to look at him, and he grinned. Cloudia sighed and resumed walking. “I will tell you when I will tell everyone.”

He frowned. “‘Everyone’?”

“The rest of the Aristocrats,” Cloudia said. “And now, you can jump around joyfully like the child you are.”

“Didn’t you say that you would never allow me to be in the same room as Barrington Weaselton?”

“Times change, Undertaker. And please, just keep walking now. I am not in the mood for talking.”

 

 

 _Cloudia was_ always _in the mood for talking. Sometimes, it was really hard to make her stop._

 

 

***

 

 

It was the first time that Cedric had ever stepped inside the Aristocrats’ Bureau. He knew what kind of room it was – a private place with especially thick walls where the Aristocrats of Evil could gather and talk about business – and how to get there as Cloudia had shown him around Phantomhive Manor a few months after they had made their deal. However, as the manor had a lot of rooms, Cloudia had only opened every door, told him a few things about each room before proceeding. It had still taken them the entire day.

“My lovely Cloudia!” said a voice as soon as Newman opened the door to the bureau for Cedric and Cloudia.

An immensely beautiful woman with blonde locks and dark brown eyes approached them, a smile all over her face. She was pale, perhaps even as much as Cloudia, and looked like she had just stepped out of a tale about princesses and princes, of angels and faeries. The woman’s beauty was mesmerising and the fact that she was wearing mourning clothes highly irritating.

She briefly hugged Cloudia. “How are you, my dear? We haven’t seen each other in so long now,” the woman said, holding Cloudia’s hands.

“As fine as the circumstances allow it.”

“But what do the circumstances allow, dear?”

“I asked her the same,” Cedric interjected, grinning, and the woman turned her attention to him, a sly smile on her cupid’s bow lips.

“Kristopher Underwood, the 46th Duke of Underwood, the nephew of the late Wallace Underwood,” she said, letting go of Cloudia and extending her hand to Cedric. “Marchioness Cecelia Williams – such a pleasure to finally meet Cloudia’s enigmatic addition to our small group.”

“Shouldn’t you have waited for Dia to introduce the two of you?” a man with short brown hair and a moustache said from a couch in the back of the room.

Cecelia smirked at him. “We are under colleagues, Barry, I think we can forget about etiquette in these walls.”

“You are not allowed to call me that.”

She shrugged and turned back to Cedric. “Cloudia did her best to hide you – but eventually, all little secrets come to light.” Cecelia ran a hand over his arm. “I cannot believe that she withheld someone like you from society.”

“Stop this nonsense, Williams,” a raspy voice said, stepping forward. “He is not one of your puppets – he is one of us.” A tall man with grey hair and a grey beard had joined them. He looked the oldest out of everyone in the room, but his blue eyes were young and cold.

“Oh, who says that you people _aren’t_ my puppets?” Cecelia said.

“Because it is Mylady’s game we are part of.”

“My dearest Oscar, aren’t we all playing our own little games?”

He ignored her and looked at Cloudia who cleared her throat before speaking. “Duke, let me introduce you to your fellow Evil Noblemen. Cecelia already gave you her name. The tall man in front of you is called Lord Oscar Livingstone – and the man in the back who is too lazily to stand up and greet us is Sir Barrington Weaselton.”

“Insults before greetings, Dia?” Barrington said from his seat.

“ _Always_ insults before greetings.”

Cecelia linked arms with Cloudia. “Oh, we haven’t gathered in so long now!” She gazed at Cedric. “You need to know that Cloudia prefers to work on her own – she only writes letters to us for business and invites us for emergencies. You, however, are the lucky one who gets to work right alongside her.

“Say, Oscar, when was the last time we all have been here?”

“You can answer that for yourself,” Oscar replied, returning to his place in the seating area.

Cecelia smiled at Cedric. “The Case of the Hanged Men – March 14 to March 29, 1846. Fifteen days of absolute terror and mystery hanging over London. Fifteen days in which Barrington, Oscar, and I stayed in the manor to help our dear Cloudia and make sure that she doesn’t fall apart right before her sixteenth birthday.”

 

 

_Ah, I remembered this case. Every night for around two weeks, men had been hanged on clotheslines. People had barricaded their houses and taken down their lines, police had patrolled the streets of London without pause – and the Aristocrats of Evil had worked as they had never worked before. Still, the city had woken up to men hanging from clotheslines, and it had taken rather long to unfold the mystery._

_It had been a busy time for Grim Reapers._

 

 

“I am never falling apart, Cecelia,” Cloudia replied, scowling, and for a very short time, worry ran over Cecelia’s face. “Of course, you don’t, love.”

Cecelia led them to the seating area, and everyone sat down. Before Cloudia could say anything, Barrington raised his voice, eying Cedric.

“So you are Duke Underwood.”

“Kristopher.”

“My name is Barrington Weaselton.” He shook his head. “Dia – from which field did you pick up this moron?”

“Where were you born again?” Cloudia said, and Cecelia chuckled while taking a glass filled with wine from the side table. Newman seemed to have set it earlier with cups, a tea pot, and some snacks. Cecelia had got the wine from the bar in one of the corners of the Bureau though.

“You are one year older now, Dia,” Barrington continued, “I think you should stop being so mean and start being more mature.”

“You are forty-four, Barrington, and you are still behaving like a child. You are not in the position to tell anyone to become more mature.”

He turned to Cedric. “I am never behaving like a child – I am forty-four years old after all. I raised two children–”

“Kamden was raised by Phyllis and Frederick and Dr Alan, and I basically raised myself,” Cloudia cut him off.

“You didn’t raise yourself. How can a child raise itself? You had this very charming governess – what was her name again? I forgot it because of all her charm.”

“Agatha.”

“I meant the charming one.”

“Agatha was the _only_ governess I’ve ever had.”

“Then, I must have imagined the charming one.”

“Apparently, yes.”

Again, Barrington turned his attention to Cedric. “Oh, where did I stop? Ah, right. I raised two children, am a veteran Villainous Nobleman, travelled through the world, fought against monsters…”

“Monsters?” Cecelia looked up from her drink.

“Metaphorical monsters, not real ones.”

“You cannot fight metaphorical monsters; you know that, Barry.”

“Don’t call me ‘Barry.’”

“I am still right, dear.” She took a sip.

“Well… I raised children, am a veteran, world traveller, monster fighter…”

“How long will you keep this up?” Cloudia wanted to know.

“… and I put up with Dia for eighteen years now. Normal fathers, veterans, world travellers, and monster fighters wouldn’t have managed that for so long.”

Cloudia cleared her throat. “Can we please start our meeting now?”

“We cannot,” Oscar said, and she frowned.

“Why can’t we?”

“Because, I am afraid, Mylady, you need to be at your finest to sit through a meeting.”

“I am fine, Oscar.”

He looked at her – he didn’t blink; he didn’t show any emotions. Oscar only looked at her.

 

 

_Apparently, Cloudia had chosen the oddest of people she could find to be part of her group of Aristocrats of Evil._

 

 

“I am… I…” Cloudia sighed. “I should have picked up more agreeable Aristocrats. And what do you suggest, Oscar? What do you think can bring me back to ‘my finest’?”

“Horseback riding – when was the last time you went riding?”

“You sound like Thomas.”

“In that regard, Holmwood seems to be wiser than you, Mylady.”

“I cannot go riding when we have to talk about something of such importance,” Cloudia said.

“We will not talk about anything; we will only listen to the canon of Weaselton’s, Williams’, and Underwood’s relentless chatter until you caught some fresh air and sorted that chaotic head of yours, Mylady. You know very well that we will achieve nothing if your mind is not completely with us. Especially today of all the days you could have chosen as a meeting date.”

“Oscar, my head is not chaotic.”

Again, he didn’t say anything; he just looked at her.

“I am doing very well.”

Oscar didn’t move, and Cedric wondered if he had mastered the art of falling asleep with opened eyes.

“I don’t need you to tell me anything about chaotic minds, Detective Chief Superintendent Livingstone.”

He still didn’t do anything. Even Cecelia and Barrington didn’t do anything to interfere.

Cloudia sighed and stood up. “Very well. I guess I will see Falada now. I will return in around an hour – and then, we will _definitely_ start the meeting. No nonsense, no rambles, no ‘Cloudia, you look a shade paler than usual but, of course, that automatically means that you aren’t feeling well _not_ that you weren’t outside for a while.’”

“Aye aye, Watchdog,” Cecelia said, raising her glass. “We will see you in an hour then. I already miss you, sweetie.”

She waved at Cloudia as she grumpily left the bureau.

“I have never met anyone who was able to intimidate the Countess,” Cedric said when she was gone. “How did you do that, Mr Livingstone?”

“Practise, experience,” Oscar answered and poured himself a cup of tea. “I have known Mylady for five years now – and I was able to read her in less than five seconds. She is only an enigma for beginners, fools, and herself.”

“Rodomont,” Cecelia said. “It took me eight seconds.” Then, she smiled like a devil at Cedric, and, immediately, he knew that nothing good would come now. “Now to you, dear. Did you know that I have known your uncle, Wallace? He was such a fine man… his eyes didn’t have the odd colour of yours, but the shape was the same. You resemble him a lot, has anyone ever told you that?”

 

 

 _Wallace Underwood had been a_ real _person? All this time, I had thought that Cloudia had made him up just like she had made up everything else too._

 

 

Cedric nodded. “Yes, everyone keeps telling me that.”

“Oh, really? That comes to a surprise to me because you don’t look like him at all. Wallace Underwood was an ugly idiot who neither had any children nor nephews.” Cecelia turned to Oscar. “I think doomsday is around the corner – Barrington was right: Cloudia took in a moron.”

“I am right here, Cecelia,” Barrington said but was ignored.

Cecelia dug her fingers into Cedric’s arm. “So, now, would you be so kind and introduce yourself with your real name? Then, you can proceed with telling us how you really met our dear Cloudia and what is the goal you are pursuing.”

 

 

_Surely, it hadn’t been a good idea to sit down next to her._

 

 

Cedric freed himself from her grip and glared at her. “What goal are _you_ pursuing? You said earlier that you were all playing your own games.”

“I want to take revenge on the people who took my dearest Michael, the love of my life, away from me,” Cecelia said without hesitation, and, only now, Cedric could see the coldness in her dark eyes. “Even if that means to work for the crown and give me to sin. Oscar’s game is so dark and twisted that you may go mad upon hearing it – your mind simply doesn’t seem to be very strong. And Barrington? Barrington is picking up old figures and struggling to protect Cloudia after he couldn’t protect her father.”

She raised her chin. “It is your turn now, impostor dear – what game are you playing? What made you want to become an Aristocrat?”

“I…”

 

 

_“Ced – wake up! It is time to wake up, Ced!”_

 

 

“Before I met the Countess, my life was boring – I did the same things every day for many years,” Cedric ultimately said. “I had nobody; for years, I was all alone. Then, I encountered the Countess and saw a way to break free from my boredom; that’s why I took it.”

Cecelia laughed. “Do you really think that we would believe this? You became an Aristocrat only for _fun_? Just because you were _lonely_ you associated with the Queen’s Watchdog? That’s absolutely ridiculous.” She narrowed her eyes. “I have no idea who you are – and that worries me. I can only grasp a few things concerning you – the rest is locked up tight behind a steel door. As if you were a dead man. I need to be sure that you will never hurt or exploit our Cloudia.”

“Let Underwood be, Williams,” Oscar said. “Certainly, he will never do Mylady any harm.” Oscar’s gaze briefly met Cedric’s and a shiver stabbed right into his spine. Then, Oscar looked back at Cecelia, and Cedric could breathe again. He hadn’t even noticed that he had held his breath.

 

 

_He was a monster. This man was a monster._

 

 

“And if I am correct, not even she knows about the demons chasing Underwood – and before he tells us about himself, he should open up to Mylady first,” said Oscar.

Cecelia stood up and grinned at Cedric. “I hope so. Let me tell you something, my dear Not-Kristopher, we all decided to become Aristocrats of Evil because of personal reasons, but that doesn’t mean that Cloudia is only important to us for business’ sake. We all enjoy her presence, and that poor girl already does herself enough harm – we cannot allow someone so close to her to hurt her too; it could ruin her. And how would the world look like without our Cloudia?”

She walked to the bureau’s bar.

“Especially for someone like you, Not-Kristopher, who only became an Aristocrat for fun, for someone like you to whom Cloudia was the first star in a never-ending dark night, a world without her would be rather gloomy.” Cecelia poured herself a new glass of wine. “Don’t you agree?”

 

 

_Why did Cloudia have to surround herself with such dangerous people?_

_And how could she leave me alone with them?_

 

 

“I have no reasons at all to ever hurt the Countess,” Cedric said, getting more and more annoyed because of Cecelia. She put down her glass on the top of the bar and turned around to him, and the smile on her face had something oddly soft in it.

“Cloudia Phantomhive is so much – my one and only friend, Oscar’s anchor, the daughter Barrington never had and simultaneously his second greatest failure. And to you, Not-Kristopher? To you, she is the person you love the most – the Queen of Your Heart.

“You love her even though you do your best to bottle up your feelings. You love her, but you are still lying to her. I am not certain how Cloudia’s feelings for you look like, but I assure you that she holds you dear although she would never admit it. You are lying to her about your feelings; you are lying to her about the true reason why you became an Evil Nobleman – what would happen if she found out about your lies? Don’t you think she would be hurt? Don’t you think you are hurting her with every day you don’t tell her the truth? One of the things Cloudia Phantomhive hates the most is when someone withholds something important.”

“I am not in love with the Countess,” Cedric set right. “And I don’t lie to her.”

“I hope so,” Barrington said, glaring at him.

“Denying will not help you,” Oscar meant, taking a sip of his tea. “Confessing, however, will.”

“Nobody confesses to Dia,” said Barrington, but was ignored.

“You hurt her as much as you hurt yourself with this,” Cecelia continued. “Oscar is right – you should tell her what needs to be told as soon as she returns from riding out. Cloudia will finally know about your intentions, and it is better if she breaks your heart sooner than later.”

“I am _not in love with her_ ,” Cedric said again. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard in a long time.”

“It is not healthy to lie to yourself, Not-Kristopher. We all saw – and with ‘we all’ I mean ‘Oscar and me’ – how you looked at Cloudia. For the short time, she was in the Bureau, you could not take off your eyes from her – you may not have noticed it yourself, but we surely did.”

“I didn’t take my eyes off her because she walks around like a ghost and I am worried,” Cedric replied, annoyed. “I have no idea what is going on – what happened that made her like that – but I know that she shouldn’t be all alone outside right now.” He stood up and headed towards the door, but before he could open it and leave, someone raised their voice.

“You want to know what happened? Someone died.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

_I couldn’t believe that he had made me do that._

_We had so much to do today – and he had just sent me away. I wasn’t a child anymore. I was used to being locked up; I was used to locking myself up._

 

 

In her riding gear, Cloudia walked towards the stable and with every step she took, the familiar scent of horses and hay became more and more intense.

“Lady!” someone called her. With a smile on his face, Thomas Holmwood waved at her from the stable.

The first thing Cloudia had done after her decoration was to replace every servant Agatha Bolton and King William IV had employed. And during this shift in the Phantomhive household, Thomas had come to her, asking her to be her stable boy. At first, she didn’t want to employ someone who was only two years older than her – especially when he was terribly annoying – but Barrington had suggested a test trial and Horse Boy wouldn’t be Horse Boy if he hadn’t proven himself to be worthy of being a stable boy.

 

 

_Because I couldn’t get back Mable and the others…_

_Because I couldn’t let them see what I had become…_

_Because I couldn’t take them away from the new lives they had built…_

_Because…_

 

 

“Hello,” Thomas said when Cloudia reached the stable. “What are you doing here, Lady? Aren’t you having one of those secret meetings with Miss Merry Widow, Mr Silent Scary, and Sir Barrington? Oh, and with Kris. Nearly forgot him.”

He frowned and examined her. “You are not looking very well, Lady – did you fight in there?”

“I… We…” She took a deep breath. “I am here because I want to ride out with Falada.”

“Are you sure that you are fine, Lady? You didn’t ride out with him in a very long time.”

“I am fine. Can you… Can you just prepare him?”

Thomas shrugged. “If you say so, Lady. But if something happened, you can just talk to me. Even though you are my employer and I am only a servant. After all, we have known each other for quite a while now, haven’t we, Lady?”

Cloudia nodded absentmindedly, and Thomas vanished inside the stable. She leaned against the manor’s façade.

 

 

_“Even though you are my employer and I am only a servant.”_

_I closed my eyes._

 

 

“Lady?” Thomas said, and Cloudia opened her eyes again. Her head was spinning, and she needed a while to be able to see Thomas’ face properly.

“Hm?”

“Falada is ready – but I don’t think you should ride out right now,” he said, his eyes widened. “You are really not looking well, Lady. You should go to bed. You should drink this disgusting milk-honey drink of yours and sleep.”

“I am fine, Thomas,” Cloudia waved away, and stroked Falada, her bay Thoroughbred. “Hi, old friend. Long time, no see.”

She was about to mount her horse when Thomas took hold of her wrist and forced her to look at him. Cloudia had never seen him so serious.

“I know what day today is,” he said with a low voice. “And I don’t think you should do this – not today. You can ride all day tomorrow, but not today.”

“Let me go, Thomas.”

“I’ve known you for six years now. In these six years, I’ve seen the best and worst of you, but I’ve never seen you like this. Not even on this day. In these six years, you have never missed an opportunity to call me names – and when you wanted to ride out, you’ve always prepared Falada yourself. Cloudia – I am worried, and I am sure the others are worried too.”

Cloudia dug her fingers into his hand and ripped it off hers. “You are only a servant, Thomas. Don’t dare to touch me again with your filthy fingers. Don’t dare to decide what I can do and what I can’t. You don’t have the right to do anything like that,” she snarled, mounting Falada and riding into the woods.

 

 

***

 

 

_Before I got Falada, I ran a lot. I remembered the day after the decoration when I woke up to the first sunlight of the day, got dressed in silence – and just run through London not knowing where my feet carried me._

_I remembered the refreshing feeling running had brought to me, remembered how I had smiled and how alive I had felt when I had eventually returned to the townhouse._

_From that day on, I had gone out for a jog every time after waking up if my schedule allowed it. I had never liked bicycles or driving in a carriage for too long, had always preferred to walk and run. But then, someone gifted me Falada, and I started to ride – and to my surprise, I loved it. I didn’t know why but I loved riding the instance I had first sat on top of my dear horse._

_Lately, however, I found less and less time for it._

 

 

Sometimes, she let Falada gallop through the forest, making the colours around her blend into one another, making it seem as if there were only she and her horse in the world; sometimes, Falada just trotted through the woods, and Cloudia took herself the time to marvel at nature’s beauty.

She had no idea how much time had passed – Cloudia knew that she should head back soon as she still had a lot of work to do, but, right now, she only wanted to be here and nowhere else.

Cloudia made Falada stop at a meadow of flowers, dismounted, and let herself fall into the flowers.

“Let us pause for a while, old friend,” she said to her horse, reached into her pocket and got out a few carrots which she tossed in front of him. Falada eagerly started to pick them up and eat them.

Cloudia’s body was sore from riding, but she didn’t mind the pain, in fact, she appreciated it. It reminded her that she was still alive.

She ripped out a flower and held it up. “An Evening primrose,” Cloudia said aloud and closed her eyes, pressing the flower against her chest.

 

 

_I had to apologise to Thomas. I would apologise to him right after returning to the manor._

 

 

With difficulty, Cloudia sat herself up when a sudden thought overwhelmed her.

“Falada,” she said, still pressing the flower against her chest. “Falada, I murdered a flower. I…” Tears gathered in her eyes, and she blinked them away. “I… I just ripped it out without thinking. It can’t bloom today because of me… I…” Cloudia whipped away her tears, breathed in and out, and threw away the primrose. “I am going crazy, Falada. I am crying over a damn flower. There are flowers in nearly every room of the manor. They were all ripped out; they had all been stolen of a huge part of their lifespan. Why did I never cry over them? Shouldn’t I cry over every flower which died because of me? But, for some reason, I was never upset because of them. But now… now, I…” She ran a hand over her face. “I threw the flower away, Falada. I threw the goddamn flower away. I killed it and threw it away without thinking twice. What is wrong with me? I took away a life and threw a corpse in-between his living flower friends. I…”

Cloudia stood up and nearly tumbled to the left, but Falada walked towards her so that she fell against him. She cried against his soft fur, and he buried his nose in her hair and chewed a bit on it.

“There are periods of time in which I am feeling fine, and there are others in which I feel like I will never get up again,” Cloudia struggled to say, tears running over her face. “And my head… inside my head, my thoughts are spinning. And it hurts. My head and my body, they hurt. All of me hurts and feels numb at the same time. I don’t know.

“And I can’t even drink a cup of hot milk with honey. I can’t even look at it. It always helped – but I know… I know that it won’t help this time; I don’t know if it will ever help again. I don’t know if I will ever be fine again.” She took a deep breath.

“My mind is a mess – I am a mess. I could not bake Kamden a cake this year. I tried, but I always started crying when I began. I couldn’t even do my Watchdog work properly – that’s why Oscar, Cecelia, Undertaker, and Barrington are here. Because I need help to compensate my mistake. Perhaps, the Royal advisers had been right all along. Perhaps, I am really not suited to be the Watchdog. Perhaps, he was wrong all along…”

Cloudia stepped away and stroked over Falada’s nasal bridge. “I am a liar, Falada. I am a coward and a liar. I keep telling everyone that I am fine; I keep telling myself that I am fine. I wanted to tell Undertaker what is going on but I _can’t_. I simply can’t do it. Everyone else knows because everyone else knew him, and I know that I should tell Undertaker what’s wrong, that he deserves to know what is going on, but I am not brave enough to do it. Because I know that when I speak about it, I will start to cry and I don’t want him to see me cry. He should never see me cry. Not like that. Never like that.”

She took a deep breath. “Let us go back now, my dear friend. And I am sorry that I burst out like that.”

Cloudia whipped away her tears and before she could do anything else, two hands wrapped around her throat – and her vision turned black.

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

Cedric turned around and looked right into Barrington’s eyes. Before Cloudia had left, he had joked but, now when Cedric saw him, the memory of him joking seemed like a distant dream.

“Who died?” Cedric wanted to know, coldness running over his spine.

 

 

_I hadn’t found the name of a person close to Cloudia in my Death Book. Perhaps, I had overlooked it. Perhaps, this person had died someone else and not in the area of London._

_Perhaps, I didn’t know the name of who had died._

 

 

“Someone important to her,” Barrington said in a low voice. It surprised him that Cecelia didn’t cut him off. Usually, she would have done that, but now, she and Oscar were just silent. “Someone very close to her died a week before her birthday. Dia is always not feeling very well on her birthday, and this sudden death made it even worse. She couldn’t think straight, she still cannot, and this caused her to make a mistake – and this mistake made her gather us all today. Today of all goddamn days. Dia shouldn’t have done this, but she feels guilty for having made this mistake and wanted to compensate it as soon as possible – no matter what date today is.”

Cedric swallowed, the coldness having fully embraced his body.

 

 

_I didn’t want to ask this question because, deep inside, I knew the answer – and I dreaded it. But I knew that I had to. And I hated it._

 

 

“What… what happened on April 10?”

Barrington cradled his head in his hands for a while, facing down and closing his eyes, before looking up again and clutching his hands together.

“Today is the anniversary of a case Scotland Yard had never been able to solve. A case which is haunting Dia for fourteen years now. A case to which she is the sole witness.”

Barrington looked at Cedric – and Cedric couldn’t remember if he had ever seen such a hurt, such a sad and lost expression like the one Barrington was wearing in his eyes before.

 

 

_Now, I knew why he joked so much._

 

 

When Barrington spoke, his voice cracked.

“Simon Phantomhive died on April 10.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

_Everything was blurry._

_I couldn’t make out my surroundings. I couldn’t make out from where the voice came which was speaking to me. I could barely hear what the voice was saying to me._

_“I… I am not here to hurt you…”_

 

 

***

 

 

“Is she alive?”

“Think, Ainslie! Why should they have brought in a corpse?”

“Perhaps, they want to scare us?”

“Ainslie has a point, Prunella.”

“Be quiet, Adair.”

“I am not going to be quiet – we are in a far too small dungeon, and we are far too many people. If they don’t kill us, claustrophobia will hit me, and I will commit suicide with Robena’s ridiculously long fingernails.”

“I heard that, Adair.”

“I will not stay quiet like Julius and rock back and forth in a corner. I will speak until I take the last of my breaths!”

“I will end your life right here, right now if you don’t stop talking, Adair.”

“I will fully support you, Prunella.”

“Thanks. That means a lot to me, Kelia.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Do you think we can eat her?”

“That’s gross, Jessalyn.”

“But we didn’t get anything to eat for so long now, Prunella! If the new girl is dead, we should eat her. Levi already ate Ernest, Claude, and Vanessa. Why can’t we eat the new one?”

“There is no proof that Levi ate them.”

“Elliot saw it – and he is still traumatised. He hasn’t spoken a word since it happened.”

“Very well. Levi _did_ eat Claude, Vanessa, and Ernest, but…”

“Can we eat the new girl then?”

“… we won’t eat the new girl.”

“Dammit, Prunella.”

“Prunella?”

“What do you want Ainslie?”

“Do dead people move?”

“Usually, not. Why do you ask?”

“Dammit, Prunella, the new girl moved.”

“Oh, be a smart-ass somewhere else, Adair.”

Cloudia woke up with a terrible headache and in-between a crowd of people and noise. Slowly, her vision cleared and she saw right into the wide blue eyes of a girl with messy brown hair.

 

 

_Where was I? Where was Falada? What had happened?_

 

 

“Are you dead?” the girl asked, puzzling Cloudia. “Prunella said that the dead don’t move, but now, she’s arguing with Adair, so I can’t ask her if the dead don’t open their eyes too or not.”

Cloudia struggled to sit up and leaned against a cold wall. She had been dreaming, but she couldn’t remember what her dream had been about – the voices around her had slowly woken her up and cut her off from her dream.

“My head hurts,” Cloudia said with a voice too rough and thin to be hers. “Can you repeat that please?”

The girl’s eyes widened. “I don’t know if dead people can open their eyes or not, but I am sure that they don’t speak!” A huge smile appeared on her face. “You are alive! You are alive! We already started to debate whether or not to eat you if you weren’t!”

“What?”

“Don’t worry – we decided not to eat you even if you hadn’t woken up! Prunella, Adair!”

A man with dirty blond and a woman with auburn hair turned around to the girl. “What do you want, Ainslie?” they said synchronically.

“The new girl is awake!” the girl, Ainslie, replied joyfully, and the man and the woman – Prunella and Adair – laid their eyes on Cloudia for the first time – and stared.

“It’s not polite to stare,” she said, massaging her temples.

“What is your name?” a woman with short black hair asked, and Cloudia skimmed over the crowd in front of her. There were around as many boys as girls present. Most were around Cloudia’s age, but some like Ainslie looked a lot younger. There seemed to be nobody over twenty-five.

“I am Robena,” the woman said. She was slightly older than Prunella and had significantly longer fingernails. “What is your name?”

“I am Cloudia,” she answered. “Where am I? Where are we?”

“We are in the Witch’s Castle,” Prunella told her.

“To be exact – we are in the far too small dungeon of the Witch’s Castle,” Adair added, and Prunella rolled her eyes.

Cloudia looked around the dungeon – this time, she didn’t look at the people surrounding her but at the dungeon’s structure and saw that… the door to it was wide open.

 

 

_That was more than strange._

 

 

“Are we prisoners? Because if we are… why is the door open?”

A man in the back laughed. He had dark brown hair and bloodlined grey eyes. “Name’s Evander,

and I tell you, girl, what da Witch isn’t stupid. The door isn’t closed because i’ doesn’t ’ave to. Because da corridor behind i’ leads ter a labyrinf – an’ just like Levi’s a cannibal, da labyrinf is a place ov no escape.

“Sorry, new girl, but we are all stuck ’ere.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After I couldn't write for over a week, I finished this chapter extra fast. I hope I didn't mess it up or sth...
> 
> I could finally introduce Cecelia and Oscar, and while I am happy because of that, I feel a bit sad because I cannot explore their stories because if I would, this FF would become even longer than it already will be.
> 
> Did I ever say that I LOVE to base people and stuff loosely on fairy-tales of all sorts? Sometimes, I even combine multiple fairy-tales. Cecelia and Oscar and their stories are loosely based on fairy-tale characters and theirs.
> 
> And so are Cedric and Cloudia.^^
> 
> My brother is not the only one who's old - I turned 18 last week. I started this FF when I was 16. So much time has passed... I cannot believe it. ~~Can I start feeling old now?~~
> 
> Next week, I will upload a bonus story on Cloudia's death day. I think I will post it separately, just like I posted the bonus story for Vincent's birthday separately. Well, until then, I guess.


	21. Fun with Holidays: Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbour's Porch Day (August 8)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know, today isn't August 8 (Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbour's Porch Day) but August 15 (Lemon Meringue Pie Day) but I can explain.
> 
> I've actually already uploaded this extra on August 11 but forgot to upload it here too. (August 11 was late too - my tardiness can be explained by me being a jinx. On August 8, the extra was almost finished but then something happened, and more things happened and the universe, more or less, turned against me - that's why this extra was nothing but late.)
> 
> This extra is so silly - and just like everything, it has a story: Two years ago when this FF was in its early stages, there was this one funny character who would team up with Cedric and bring more "fun" into Cloudia's life. And how should he have done it? By celebrating the weirdest holidays!
> 
> Due to me being too busy working on the main story, I dropped more or less every side story idea I had (Miss P will continue though... eventually), and due to this certain character being ultimately cut during the rearrangement of arcs, "Fun with Holidays" died completely. But, well, no matter what, I don't delete my notes, my old snippets, not even my deleted scenes. And because my old notes are still in the same document as my new ones, I stumbled on "Fun with Holidays" on August 7 and saw what is on August 8.  
> Then, I started writing like a maniac and was let down by the universe.
> 
> Well - cut short: I saw my notes, I dug out Chapter 9, dug out an online calender for 1847 to find out if I can even fit this ridiculous story into my timeline. And I could. And I did.
> 
> And I am rambling again. Hell, I am always rambling. This story could have ended in ten chapters if I didn't ramble so much.
> 
> Enjoy reading this ridiculous story to shorten the wait for the enormous Chapter 17. :)

**London, England, United Kingdom – August 1847**

 

 

Cloudia didn’t like to stay in the Phantomhive townhouse longer than necessary. There were various reasons for that, and one of them was the fact that while the Phantomhive Manor was located in the middle of the woods with the next centre of human living being a few kilometres away, the townhouse could be found in the middle of London – a vibrating city which grew and grew in inhabitants. Many were fond of the liveliness of the city, politely ignored the Thames’ and the streets’ smell for the radiance – but Cloudia who preferred being all by herself in the library or the anteroom of her chambers, sitting comfortably in an armchair and devouring a book, preferably a good one, London was a place you made sure to leave as quickly as possible as soon as the Season was over.

Of course, Cloudia could still sit in silence and enjoy a book in the townhouse with the doors and the windows shut and barricading her from the loud world outside – if it wasn’t for her neighbours.

The manor didn’t have any immediate neighbour houses, but the townhouse had two: The house on the left belonged to the Dowager Duchess Sophia of Hainault, a nice elderly woman who, nowadays, spent most of her time in the countryside and didn’t even come to London for the Season. The house on the right, however, was the property of Arlington Lincoln, the Viscount of Middalanoware, and his wife, Danielle.

Danielle was two or three years older than Cloudia and much more energetic. She was even much more lively than Constantia and much more annoying than Cloudia’s cousin as her most salient “talent” was to order around servants with that piercing voice of hers and run around hysterically. Her husband, Arlington, was around a decade older than her but definitely not less loud and nerve-wracking. He alone had been a nuisance, but ever since he had married Danielle two years ago, the noise level had drastically increased. Undoubtedly, they were disastrously well made for each other.

Phantomhives had never been religious persons. Cloudia only ever attended the Easter and Christmas masses whenever she found the time. This lack of faith wasn’t connected to the fact that they murdered for a living – after all, there were killers who took lives for their religion just like there were killers who claimed themselves to be religious and murdered people for other reasons or for nothing else than “for the sake or thrill of it.” It was just that if you asked Cloudia that after seeing so much of the world’s dark side that you couldn’t do anything else but doubt the existence of a God.

The Viscount and Viscountess of Middalanoware, however, were devout members of the Anglican Church, and every Sunday, chaos broke out in their house to get ready for the Sunday mass. Unfortunately, they frequented a church whose mass started at eight o’clock in the morning which meant that around six o’clock, sometimes even earlier, Danielle Lincoln’s voice woke up the nearby residents like a vicious cock.

Including Cloudia who couldn’t believe that the walls of the Phantomhive townhouse were known for their “noise attenuation.”

 

 

_If this house wasn’t family-owned for decades, I would have sold it ages ago to the next best person willing to live right next to Mr and Mrs Eardrum Piercer. And to their unbelievable and unknown fortune, being the Watchdog wasn’t a carte blanche for murder._

 

 

Cloudia woke up, rolled out of her bed, and grabbed her dark blue dressing gown which she put on and furiously buttoned. On her way out, she quickly checked in the mirror of her dressing table that she didn’t look too horrendous.

 

 

_I couldn’t murder Arlington and Danielle – but I could surprise them at their back door and remind them as politely as I managed that they weren’t the only ones living on this street and that they also weren’t the only ones getting ready for church, only the only ones who couldn’t do it in adequate silence._

_I massaged my temples. I had returned from my holidays in Wales only yesterday, and today, I had to visit Antonia Rossini’s tailor’s shop because I needed new clothes for Cedric and me for the meeting with the Queen next Saturday. I needed rest, I needed silence – I needed a few more wonderful hours of sleep. And a few annoying Zounderkites at whom I could be passive aggressive._

 

 

Walking down the corridor, Cloudia nearly collided with Cedric who was also wearing his dressing gown over his night clothes, but unlike her, he hadn’t bothered buttoning it or making sure that his hair didn’t give others the impression that he had been involved in a bombing.

Cedric blinked at her through his crooked glasses. “Countess, good that you are awake too – if you weren’t I would have had to question your hearing. Are the neighbours dying? And is that happening regularly?”

Cloudia shook her head and suppressed an unladylike yawn. “Unfortunately, my dear neighbours, Arlington and Danielle Lincoln, aren’t dying. They are only terribly noisy and get nervous and hysteric every Sunday as if it was their first mass although they are members of the church for many years now.”

“How long will this go on?”

“Until around half past seven.”

“I think I’ll return to the Dispatch now and continue sleeping there,” Cedric said, rubbing his eyes. “Good luck with whatever you want to do, Countess.”

He was about to turn around and walk back to his room, most likely to get his possessions, but Cloudia grabbed his arm and pulled him towards her.

“You are going _nowhere_ , Undertaker,” she hissed. “We have to go to a tailor today for the Queen’s drawing room – and you will _not_ leave to sleep somewhere else while I have to endure this nonsense.”

“How cruel, Countess, wanting me to suffer with you.”

“Don’t think of it as cruelty from me but as solidarity from you.”

“I can pass on solidarity – I can’t pass on sleep.”

“Do you think I think differently? That’s exactly why I wanted to pay the Lincolns a visit and tell them to lower their goddamn voices – of course, without putting it like that.”

“I like that, you should definitely say it like that,” Cedric meant. “Then they will be too shocked to speak.”

“I’m telling you – nothing in the world, no matter how shocking, will stop Danielle and Arlington from speaking too loudly in their piercing voices. The shock may make them even more hysterical.”

“How in the world aren’t they already dead?”

“I am asking that myself every time I’m here,” Cloudia replied, starting to walk again and dragging Cedric with her.

“But if nothing can stop them, Countess,” he asked, “can you stop them with only a polite ask?”

“Honestly, I don’t think so,” she said, “but I want to _try_. What do they say? ‘Suck it and see.’”

Cedric stared at her. “It seems like you really do need more hours of sleep – that was uncharacteristically colloquial for you.”

“I am talking – and when people are talking, they are colloquial. What makes it so wondrous? We aren’t in a novel after all,” Cloudia grumpily told him. “We don’t have to speak in perfect grammatically correct sentences. And we don’t have to use the right, intelligently formulated and intellectually appropriate proverbs or idioms. Sometimes, we can use the colloquial versions of them.”

“You only didn’t use it because it’s about pudding, right?”

“What are you talking about?”

“‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating.’ That’s the nice version of ‘Suck it and see.’ You didn’t want to use it because you didn’t want to mention pudding in front of me, right?”

She blinked at him. “Undertaker, you are being ridiculous.”

Cedric stopped walking and brought Cloudia to a halt too. “I am not. You didn’t want to make me hungry, right?”

“Undertaker…”

“But you’ve failed, Countess. I am hungry now. Do you think it would be eyebrow rising if I go and get Arwyn so that he makes me pudding and that cheesy Glamorgan sausage?”

Cloudia rolled her eyes. “Not that again.”

“They will never guess that I am a Grim Reaper. They will probably think I’m a magician, a witch, a sorcerer, a wizard – and I will say when they chase me to the top of a mountain with their torches and pitchforks: ‘I’m a wizard!’ in some fancy but not _fancy_ fancy accent. And after my proclamation, I will seemingly vanish into thin air and continue eating my pudding and sausage in the Dispatch. Warm, comfortable, with the pleasant knowledge that I won’t have to attend any awkward parties anymore. Well, except the annual ‘Very Awkward Grim Reaper Ball.’ That’s not its official name, but everybody calls it by that name. Or perhaps, it’s only me. I don’t really talk to the other Reapers; I have no clue what goes on in that undead brains of them, and I don’t want to find out because it would be weird and…”

“ _Undertaker_ ,” Cloudia cut him off. “We came back from Wales _just yesterday_ – and you know how silly our stay there was –, and there’s a fixed amount of nonsense I can tolerate. And this amount is long strained. Also, even though I went to sleep early yesterday, I lack sleep – and you lack it too. Our brains are not working properly; we are talking nonsense, the neighbours are nonsensical… It’s too much. We need to breathe in and out and stop this before it gets out of hand. On a side note: We both know that it would be much more believable if you said you were a jester than a wizard.”

“Today is ‘Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbour’s Porch Day.’”

She blinked at him, taken by surprise by his contextless statement. “Wait – what?”

Cedric stepped closer to her and bent down to whisper into her ear even though the corridor was empty except for them and even though he had openly talked about being a Grim Reaper only a few minutes ago. “I shouldn’t be telling you that but, in some centuries, August 8 will be known as ‘Sneak Some Zucchini onto Your Neighbour’s Porch Day.’”

“What kind of weird holiday is that?”

“The weirdest.”

“Do people really celebrate this day?”

“Only weird people.”

“And why do they do it?”

“Because it’s fun – it won’t silence the Lincolns, but, at least, it’s a funny, confusing prank.”

“And why did you mention it? Do you want to sneak some zucchini onto the Lincolns’ porch? We are a Watchdog and a Grim Reaper and make up a weird partnership, but we aren’t that weird to sneak zucchini on a porch. What reason is there to leave a fruit most wrongly call a vegetable on the porch of neighbours you don’t like? I have no idea what is wrong with the people in the future, but _we_ are _definitely_ not as weird as that. We aren’t such oddballs, such nutcases, such crackpots.

“If they find out about that, we will get sent straight to one of those awful asylums, and the hysteric laughter of Danielle and Arlington will sound right behind us until the carriage door closes and even all the way to the asylum and for all eternity. To cut my rambling short: This isn’t something we should do. _Especially_ not I. No matter what, we will never sink so low.”

Cedric looked at her, his eyebrows raised, and Cloudia looked back at him, her own brows contracted.

“I will get as much zucchini as I can carry from the pantry,” Cedric said.

“I will make sure that the coast is clear,” Cloudia said. And with no other word, they went to work.

 

 

***

 

 

“Jester to Blood Queen – the hatchlings have safely landed in the nest, I repeat: Jester to Blood Queen, the hatchlings have…”

“Undertaker, _I am standing right next to you_.”

Cloudia and Cedric were standing behind some bushes in the front yard, shielded from the passers-by on the road. She had a spyglass in her hand although there was no need of it because the Lincolns’ porch could be seen very well by the naked eye from where they stood. He had a small sack full of zucchini thrown over his shoulder, looking like the oddest Santa Claus.

 

 

_I wondered what Armstrong would think if he noticed that all his zucchini supplies had mysteriously vanished –_ and _that, coincidentally, a bunch of zucchinis had appeared on the neighbour’s porch._

 

 

“What is the plan, Countess?” Cedric asked, pushing away the bush branches to look at the neighbouring house. The door was open, and a woman stood in the doorsill, talking loudly to the servants working on the carriage.

“I will go and distract Danielle,” Cloudia said. “It’s early, she is busy but manners are manners, and she would definitely invite me for tea in her parlour. We will go there, and, perhaps, she will take one of the servants working on the carriage with her. It doesn’t really matter if she does or not. What matters is that she is gone and that the servants are far too captivated by their work to notice a fast moving silver-haired man putting zucchini on the porch.” She paused. “Did I really say that?”

“You did,” Cedric said and nodded.

“I am not asleep, and this is nothing more but a fever dream?”

“It isn’t, and if it was, I would be the guard dog of your fever dream – and all the other fever dreams to come and go.”

“The guard dog of the guard dog?”

“The fever guard dog of the guard dog’s fever.”

“Let’s just start.”

“Yes, we should.”

“Then, we can sleep.”

Cedric smiled a young boy’s happy, innocent, but sly smile. “Then, we can sleep.”

 

 

***

 

 

With grace, Cloudia walked out of the townhouse’s courtyard and to her unpleasant neighbour and hoped that her grace and elegance could cover the fact that she was wearing a dressing gown and her hair was dishevelled.

 

 

_Why lie?_

_I was doomed. If someone who knew me saw me on the street, I was doomed to a life of being ridiculed and being laughed at. The others living here would understand, surely they would. After all, I was definitely not the only one bothered by the Viscount and Viscountess. Passers-by who didn’t live here though wouldn’t get easy on me._

_Hell, I was doomed._

_But now, I could only smile happily and wave at Danielle as I had already entered her courtyard._

 

 

“Lady Cloudia! How did I get the pleasure?” Danielle Lincoln said, nearly screamed, her eyes widened in surprise.

“My dear Viscountess,” Cloudia said, approaching her. Every time, they stood side by side, she was always amazed how such a petite woman could produce such powerful sounds. “I am sorry if I am disturbing you so early – and even on a Sunday although I know very well that you are readying yourself for church. But can we still talk? It won’t take too long, I assure you.”

“Oh, well… yes, of course, Lady Cloudia,” Danielle replied, a puzzled smile on her lips. “Gisela!”

“You called for me, Viscountess?” spoke a voice from behind Cloudia. She stepped away and positioned herself differently to see an old, little woman with short brown hair and a fringe, glasses, wrinkles, who emitted wickedness and was wearing a housekeeper’s clothes.

“Gisela,” Danielle said, smiling as if she couldn’t sense the woman’s apparent evilness. “Could you prepare tea and cucumber sandwiches for Lady Cloudia and me?”

“Of course, Viscountess,” Gisela replied before she laid her small, vicious eyes on Cloudia. “We shouldn’t tolerate such behaviour,” she said as if Cloudia wasn’t there, and Cloudia had to fight the urge to kick her in the chin. “Arriving, uninvited, unannounced on a busy Sunday morning in such an inappropriate attire. Some people must have been raised in the wild – surely they are those deemed insane and looked away for good.” Gisela wrinkled her nose in disgust before she vanished inside the house.

 

 

_I was certain that Agatha and Gisela were blood-related. Perhaps even mother and daughter. I should bring them together as they lived side by side. It would make a dreadful reunion._

 

 

Danielle cleared her throat, smiling, beaming. “Lady Cloudia? Please follow me to the parlour.” She turned around and walked ahead. Cloudia looked if she saw Cedric somewhere but she didn’t catch sight of him and followed Danielle inside.

 

 

***

 

 

_I had never been inside the house of the Viscount and Viscountess of Middalanoware, and to be honest, it could have stayed like that._

_You might have guessed that a house inhabited by two lively persons who only ever wore vibrant colours would emit life, but it didn’t, and it was clear that Gisela had been the one who had decorated the house. All was white and bleak and cold. It was just like how I imagined an asylum looked like._

_An asylum where I would end up if someone found out about Operation Zucchini._

_Or that I had thought of it as such._

 

 

“How is Arlington doing?” Cloudia asked, putting down her teacup after taking a short sip of the flavourless tea. “I would ask you how you are doing, but you are sitting right in front of me looking so lovely and healthy that it wouldn’t make a lot of sense if I did.”

Danielle smiled at her. “He is doing well. We are doing well – and thanks for the compliment, Lady Cloudia. But, in the hope that I don’t sound rude, may I ask what made you come to my house in a dressing gown?”

“Oh, you see, Danielle, I woke up – and, suddenly, a few interesting riddles came to my mind, and I thought ‘Oh, they would be perfect for my riddle loving friend Danielle!’ And because I was too excited for your answers and reactions, I couldn’t help myself but come to your house immediately to ask you the riddles.”

Danielle’s eyes lit up and widened. “Riddles, you say?” she shrieked and nearly pierced Cloudia’s eardrums.

 

 

_The Viscountess of Middalanoware wasn’t very intelligent, and she knew that very well, but that didn’t mean that she couldn’t be a lover of riddles and mysteries from the bottom of her heart._

 

 

Cloudia smiled. “Nice ones, wonderful ones – ones you’ve hopefully never heard before.”

“Then,” the Viscountess chewed on her lips and pondered for a moment if she could spare a minute or two even though they were in a hurry, “let us start, Lady Cloudia.”

She cleared her throat. “Very well, Danielle, here’s the first one: ‘Of flesh and blood sprung am I ever; but blood in me that find ye never. Many great lords bear me proudly, with sharp knives cutting me loudly. Many I’ve graced right honourably: Rich ones many I’ve humble made; many within their grave I’ve laid!’”

It took Danielle a while to come up with the answer. “A pen!” she yelled, smiling. “The answer to the riddle is a fine, fine pen.”

“That’s right,” Cloudia replied, making the smile on Danielle’s face grow. “Then, to the next one: ‘I’ve seen you where you never was, and where you ne’er will be; and yet you in that very same place May still be seen by me.’”

Danielle giggled. “It’s so easy! It’s a face’s reflection! These riddles aren’t challenging at all, Lady Cloudia.”

“Well, then, let us head to a scenario: We are walking through a park when we see two women talking to an older man while sitting on a bench. I come to a halt and make you stop too as I want to point the women out to you. I tell you, ‘Those women, do you see them? They are like two peas in a pot with not only their faces being one and the same but also their dresses and their hair-does.’ And upon hearing my words, you reply, ‘But, Lady Cloudia, dearest, isn’t it obvious? The two women are nothing but twins.’ And I shake my head. ‘The women, Lisa and Louise Barnes, share a birthday, share a mother and a father but they are certainly not twins.’

“With this scenario in mind, Danielle – what is the explanation?”

The Viscountess seemed to struggle with finding the solution to this riddle – which was fine for Cloudia as she didn’t have to think of another one.

 

 

_Of course, as long as Cedric didn’t take too long to leave some zucchinis on a porch._

 

 

And just as if he had heard her thoughts, Cedric appeared on the window opposite from Cloudia and behind the Viscountess of Middalanoware. He danced around like a mad joker, a triumphal smile on her face, and due to her lack of sleep, Cloudia had problems to keep a straight face so that Danielle didn’t notice the man at the window.

“Could it be astrological twins?” Danielle had said before she hit herself softly against the head. “Of course, it can’t be! Silly me! After all, they have the same mother and the same father, right?”

“Yes, they do,” Cloudia replied while Cedric made terrible grimaces.

“But… wait – what if they are adopted?”

“They aren’t adopted.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes – they are of the same blood. And they cannot be astrological twins because, then, they would still be twins which they aren’t.”

Cedric pressed his face against the window, distorting it.

 

 

_Hell – had he always been so annoying?_

 

 

“Lady Cloudia?”

“Hm?”

“I was asking you if you could tell me the solution now as I am afraid that I don’t have the time to think longer about it.”

“I am sorry, Danielle – I was in thought and…”

Now, Cedric was joggling with a few stones – and failed miserably. The stones rained upon him, and Cloudia nearly started to laugh.

Which made Danielle frown. The frown looked almost obscure on her usually happy, smiling face.

“Is there something behind me?” she asked, turning around, and Cloudia’s heart sunk – but Cedric had vanished before Danielle could glimpse at him. She looked back at Cloudia, still frowning.

“I am sorry,” Cloudia repeated. “A funny memory sneaked onto my mind porch and distracted me. Now, to the solution: You see, Danielle, the riddle explicitly says that Lisa and Louise Barnes _aren’t_ twins, but they are still siblings born on the same day to the same set of parents – but what you forgot to consider is that the riddle _doesn’t_ exclude the possibility of Lisa and Louisa not being the only children of their parents. And they aren’t as they have a sister named Lucy – they are triplets, not twins.”

“Oh, I see!” Danielle clapped her hands together. “What a wonderful riddle! I thank you, Lady Cloudia, and a nice day to you.”

“A nice day to you too, Danielle.”

 

 

***

 

 

Cloudia had to stop herself from running out of the drawing room and all the way back to the townhouse. Danielle hadn’t brought her to the door as Cloudia had told her that she could do it on her own, having already stolen so much of her precious time she could have spent with church preparations.

She sneaked out of the kitchen door – and walked right into Cedric’s arms, was welcomed by his impish grin. Then, they appeared behind their bush again, waiting for the Lincolns to step out of the door and –

“ARLINGTON,” Danielle cried in piercing confusion so that all the world could hear her, “DO YOU KNOW WHY TWENTY ZUCCHINIS ARE ON OUR PORCH FORMING THE WORD ‘SILENCE’?”

“Twenty-two zucchinis,” Cloudia whispered, smiling. “You need twenty-two zucchinis to form the word…” A chuckle blurting out of her mouth interrupted her. Giggling himself, Cedric took her hand and guided her back to the secret door whose passage behind led to Cloudia’s chambers. They had taken the same way earlier to get out without running into any servants. As soon as the secret door closed behind them, Cloudia’s laughter echoed through the passage – and Cedric didn’t miss this opportunity to laugh with her.

“Did you see her face?” he said in-between ringing laughter. “It was priceless! _Priceless!_ ”

They steadied and held onto each other or fell against the walls on their way back to Cloudia’s chambers, and no matter how many steps they had taken – their laughter didn’t run dry.

They tumbled through the secret door and fell down onto the carpet, holding their bellies.

“I cannot believe that we really did that!” Cloudia exclaimed, and Cedric couldn’t speak and only nodded. Then, he reached into his dressing gown’s pocket – and held up a pudding.

“See what I got from the Lincolns’ kitchen.”

“‘The proof of the pudding is in the eating.’”

“Then, let’s prove the pudding and eat it.”

But they made no move to eat it. Instead, they looked at each other and smiled. They didn’t speak; they didn’t stir – they only lay next to each other, the shared laughter from seconds ago still running through their bodies.

 

 

_And I cherished this moment – no matter how weird, how odd, how peculiar it was._

_Because, apparently, we had left Wales yesterday, but Wales hadn’t left us._

_Not for now, at least._

_But I knew that as soon as I had woken up for the second time today – I would be the Countess again._

_And Wales would be gone for once and for all._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first and second riddle Cloudia tells Danielle can be found here (and some Victorian riddles!) : http://historyandotherthoughts.blogspot.de/2012/07/victorian-riddle-rhymes.html  
> The third riddle is the first riddle in _Sherlock Holmes’ Elementary Puzzles_ (Carlton Books). (The book actually described Louise and Lisa Barnes as "two peas in a pot.")
> 
> Gisela was named after and based on my old German teacher - words cannot describe my hatred for her.
> 
> Real-life stuff usually doesn't find its way into WotQ, but this time, it did. The following exchange:  
>  _“What kind of weird holiday is that?”_  
>  “The weirdest.”  
> is based on an actual conversation I had on Zucchini Day.
> 
> Again, I've put a few references to stuff into the chapter people may or may not find - among them is a reference to a song very important to WotQ^^ and I am quite happy to have found a way to incorporate it.
> 
> Very well, until... sometime in September, then!


	22. The Countess, Unamused

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternative titles:
> 
> The Countess, Maze Runner: Get Ready to Run,  
> (http://www.alicemarvels.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/09/the-maze-runner-movie-poster1.jpg)
> 
> A Long Conversation,  
> (http://shadowhunters.wikia.com/wiki/A_Long_Conversation)
> 
> Everyone Has Elephant-Mouse-Syndrome, and, of course,  
> (http://robotics-notes.wikia.com/wiki/Kaito_Yashio)
> 
> Red Queen Sucks.  
> (http://redqueen.wikia.com/wiki/Red_Queen_Wiki)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THE EVIL DEED IS DONE. This goddamn chapter is done and up. Just like me because I have some very shitty weeks after me - and who am I kidding, the shit's not over yet >.<
> 
> But the writing of this chapter is over! :D
> 
> (There's one line a character says which I wrote and realised only afterwards how morbidly hilarious it is. Can you find it? There are also MAAAANY references in this chapter. Like, perhaps, far too many.)
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this rather long chapter! (It's more than twice as long as the last!)

_“What we believe is not necessarily what is real.”_

* * *

 

 

 

**London, England, United Kingdom – April 1834**

 

**~Penelope~**

 

Cloudia climbed out of the carriage as soon as it had stopped without waiting for Clifford or anyone else to open the door for her.

Ever since she had woken up this morning, she had been overly excited. She had run around the manor and told everyone that they would go to the townhouse today – just like her father had promised her. As long as she was not among strangers, Cloudia was always full of energy – running around and talking and asking without pause.

 

 

_She had been so sad when Si couldn’t be there for her birthday as he had received a task he couldn’t delay only a couple of days earlier. It made me smile and warmed my heart to see Cloudia happy again._

 

 

“Can I greet Daddy first?” Cloudia asked, clutching the skirt of her dress and looking at Penelope who was still sitting inside the carriage.

She laughed. “How can I say ‘no,’ sweetie? Go and find him – but don’t run too fast or you will trip. And, please, don’t sneak up on your father and scare him.”

Cloudia nodded, beaming. “Yes, Mummy!” she exclaimed before turning around and hurrying inside the townhouse.

Penelope gazed after her with a smile on her lips.

“She has your spirit, Mistress,” Clifford said when he offered her his arm to help her out of the carriage.

“She can hardly have it from Simon,” Penelope replied, taking his arm and climbing out. “But I was never as energetic as her; I was never a whirlwind. I’ve always preferred staying inside over running around outside.” Her smile widened. “Clou is so fond of her father – I have to admit that I am a little bit jealous.”

“Cloudia would have done the same if your roles had been exchanged, Penelope,” Clifford meant. “If you had been gone for ten days and not Simon.”

“You are right. Of course, you are, Theodore,” she replied, chuckling softly. “I said it as a joke – or half a joke if you want.”

 

 

_I hoped that Cloudia would stay as lively and would smile as brightly as now for a while longer. Her future might or might not be filled with darkness, and I hoped, no matter how things would turn out, that she would keep her childish liveliness for as long as possible and that, even afterwards, part of it would never leave her body – and would warm her for all the cold days which might await her._

 

 

***

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

_Grim Reapers didn’t have a unitary opinion on the Phantomhives._

_Some thought that they were nothing but a nuisance – increasing their workload because of their pitiful duty to the Crown –, others were fascinated by them and the ways they handled their work, but nearly everyone thought of them as only murderers. I had been the same until a few years ago when I had seen Cloudia breaking down on Halloween and realised that Watchdogs were, despite everything, first and most importantly humans._

_And no matter what a Grim Reaper might think of the Phantomhive family – they always found their way into their conversations._

_Because of the Reapers’ chatter and the little Cloudia had told me about him, I knew some things about Simon Phantomhive._

_I knew that he had never been a person who was fond of socialising. He had had only two Aristocrats of Evil – Barrington and a woman called Theresa Dale. Barrington had been Simon’s best friend. He had been an excellent Watchdog who was always focused on his work, but never as much as his father, Percival Phantomhive, who had been known to neglect his family because of it._

_I knew about the rumours, about the Reapers’ excited and curious whispers that he could be…_

_I knew that Simon’s final case had been the infamous Delaney Case – and this case just like the case of Simon’s death, of Simon’s murder, had never been solved. His death which had caused his wife to lock herself up and his daughter to grow up alone._

_I hadn’t known that he had died so shortly after Cloudia’s birthday – I couldn’t believe that I had missed that date._

_I hadn’t known that Cloudia had seen him die._

_Grim Reapers weren’t allowed to talk about what they saw in the Cinematic Records of people with others. But I wished that I had asked the one who had collected the soul of Cloudia’s father._

_I wished I had known all this beforehand._

_All I could have done; all I could have said… If only I had known – and I wondered if I could have helped at all, had I known about this all along. And no matter how small the chance might have been that I would have been helpful if I had known, I would have tried._

_But now, I knew – and I knew what I had to do when Cloudia came back._

 

 

Barrington ran a hand through his hair. “Please sit back down, Kristopher. I think you have a lot of questions now, and the answers to these questions will take a while to tell. We can only hope Dia doesn’t return until we are done. I don’t want her to hear what we are talking about.”

Cedric closed his eyes and took a deep breath before returning to his seat opposite from Barrington who seemed to have aged in the last few seconds.

Barrington leaned back. “Am I right to assume that you have three questions? ‘Who died two weeks ago?’, ‘What happened on April 10?’, and ‘What was the mistake Dia has made?’”

Cedric slowly nodded.

“Let’s start with the question whose answer will be the shortest.”

“‘What was the mistake the Countess has made?’”

“Exactly,” Barrington said. “Do you remember the man whom you and Dia met on April 4?”

“Yes, Maven von Brandt, Meradinus Shallow. The Countess poisoned him with strychnine, and he died in the parlour.”

“I would have paid to see that,” Cecelia interjected from the bar, and this time, it was Barrington’s turn to ignore her.

“Exactly – and do you know von Brandt’s wife?”

 

 

***

 

 

**Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

Cloudia slightly shook her head not to make her headache any worse. “There’s always a way out,” she told Evander.

 

 

_Cedric. I could call Cedric. I had the necklace he had given me a year ago – and with that, I could tell him to come and locate the pendant._

_I would call him, and with the help of the skull necklace, he would be able to find and get us out of here. It would be just as easy as that._

 

 

Evander laughed. “A ’opeful girl, aren’t you? I tell you, just like us, yew’ll soon lose all ’ope yew ’ad.”

Cloudia ignored him and raised her hand to her throat to pull on the chain of the skull necklace and retrieve it from beneath her dress – but where the chain was supposed to be was nothing but skin.

 

 

_I couldn’t have forgotten to put on the necklace – I remembered wearing it earlier. Or…_

_Or was I really losing my mind?_

 

 

With her heart racing in her chest, Cloudia focused her gaze on the others in the dungeon again before looking down at herself: Just like them, she wore brown, light clothes and simple shoes.

 

 

_All along, I hadn’t realised that I wasn’t in my riding gear anymore. My heart beat a bit faster, and I slowly began to panic at that thought._

_I searched for the dagger, I examined my hand – not only the skull necklace had been taken away from me, but also, the Phantomhive ring and my father’s dagger was gone too._

_I put a hand on my chest. I could not inform Cedric what had happened and tell him to rescue me and the others. I didn’t have a weapon I could fight with._

_I didn’t even possess anything to prove my identity anymore._

_My headache worsened, and I could barely breathe._

_There was truly no way to escape. I was a prisoner. A prisoner, a prisoner…_

 

 

“Cloudia? Are you all right?” Ainslie said and touched her arm, snapping Cloudia out of her own toxic thoughts.

“I… I…” A blurry image appeared in front of her eyes, and Cloudia blinked and pinched the bridge of her nose to make it go away. She took a deep breath through her stomach to calm herself.

 

 

_Even without dagger and ring, I was still Countess Cloudia Phantomhive, the Watchdog of the Queen, and in a situation like this, I couldn’t lose control._

_After all, no one could take off the heavy crown on my head._

 

 

“Yes. I am sorry that I spaced out so suddenly,” Cloudia replied, smiling. Ainslie nodded, returning the smile.

Cloudia looked at the others. Most of them were so lively that you almost missed the weariness in their eyes.

“If it doesn’t bother you too much, could anybody tell me more about where we are and what we are doing here?” Cloudia wanted to know, trying to be the Watchdog now, _needing_ to be the Watchdog now.

“As I’ve said before – we are in the Witch’s Castle,” Prunella told her, running a hand through her dark hair. “We don’t know much about it. All we know is that this door” – she nodded towards it – “leads to a corridor which in turn leads to a stone labyrinth. The door is always open, but, every two days, it closes, and a man comes and brings us food and water which he places in the corridor. As soon as he is gone, the door opens again.”

“How long are you here?”

“We were abducted months ago; I cannot tell you how many. After a while, you lose count of these things. Evander was the first of us to come here.”

Evander tipped the brim of an imaginary hat and bowed his head in Cloudia’s direction. It was meant to be a playful gesture, but the fact that he looked like he had gone to hell and back obscured it.

“Every week, it used to come someone new,” Robena continued. “You are the first one in weeks. What was your name again?”

“Cloudia.”

“We used to have someone called ‘Claude’ among us. Levi ate him.” Robena pointed at a man with long white hair who was sitting in a corner and smiling at no one in particular. “That’s Levi. You should avoid him as good as you can.”

“Thanks for the warning.”

“You’re welcome.”

Cloudia turned her gaze back to Prunella. “Did a lot of you die in the time you were here?”

“Levi ate two more,” Prunella answered, suspiciousness shining in her eyes when she gazed at Cloudia.

 

 

_We were all prisoners, but that didn’t mean we were in the same boat. They would do everything to get out of here – I was sure of it._

_They didn’t seem to have already lost the desire to live which meant that they would walk through seas of blood to breathe the air of freedom again._

_Prunella had all kinds of reasons not to trust me – just like she definitely didn’t trust anyone else, no matter how close she seemed to act with them._

 

 

“Ernest and Vanessa,” continued Prunella, never taking her wary dark eyes off Cloudia. “Some of us died when they went into the labyrinth – like Isaac or Franklin. Franklin went crazy and even attacked us before he ran into the maze.”

“He didn’t run into the labyrinth,” Adair interjected, and Robena silenced him with a glare. Cloudia raised an eyebrow on this but didn’t press it any further.

“Isaac died when he followed Stephen into the labyrinth,” Prunella said. “Stephen went after a girl, Agnes, who recklessly headed into the maze, wanting to explore it and find a way to get out of here, and Isaac followed Stephen. Agnes and Isaac died outside.”

“What happened to Stephen?”

Prunella looked down. “He committed suicide. He saw the corpses of his two friends – Isaac and Agnes – and wasn’t able to think straight anymore. Stephen killed himself by banging his head on the labyrinth’s stone walls.”

“How,” Cloudia slowly started to ask, “do you know all this if all who went into the labyrinth have died?”

“There was one person who came out of the labyrinth alive,” a girl with red hair answered her question. While Ceara’s hair was bright and sometimes looked in light almost orange, this girl’s hair was significantly darker. “I am Kelia, by the way. Our ‘Almost Labyrinth Conquering Queen’s’ name was Ava, and she was one of the first to come here. She had been taken when Isaac, Agnes, and Stephen went into the labyrinth, but as soon as she came back, Ava hurried after them. She couldn’t do anything else but tell us that they all had died.”

“Did Ava ever tell what exactly is inside the maze?” Cloudia asked, but Kelia only shook her head. “She was never comfortable talking about it.”

“Where is Ava now?”

“She blamed ’erself because ov da dearf ov those free,” Evander said from his place on the other side of the dungeon. Because of his thick accent and the distance, it was always hard to make out his words. This time, however, he wasn’t speaking as loud as usual which made it even harder to understand him. “Ava became mawer introverted an’ reclusive – an’ eventually murdered ’erself when she was abaaaht ter be taken again.”

“What do you mean with ‘taken’?” Cloudia wanted to know.

Kelia avoided her gaze, and even Prunella didn’t seem to want to say anything.

“On an irregular basis,” Robena ultimately broke the silence, “the man who brings us the food and the water comes to collect one of us. Sometimes, he even wants two or three. He brings them to the Witch, and after a few hours or days, he brings them back again. At least, as long as they haven’t died up there in the Witch’s Chamber.”

“What does the Witch want from you?”

“From _us_ , Cloudia. You are one of us now – and I don’t want to tell you anything until it’s your turn. I assure you, it’s better like that.” Prunella, Kelia, Adair, and some other prisoner she didn’t know the name of nodded in agreement.

“Did someone already die in the Witch’s chamber?” Cloudia asked.

“Only Pascal,” Ainslie answered her in a miserable whisper.

Cloudia messaged her temples. “The Witch – do you know her name?”

Robena nodded. “We do.”

“What is it?”

When Robena spoke the name of the Witch, she spoke it with as much disgust as you could say something and with incredible coldness in her eyes.

“Manon. Manon von Brandt.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

“I don’t know a lot about her,” Cedric told Barrington. “I know her name, that she was her husband’s accomplice, and that the Countess planned to murder her as well. That’s all.”

Barrington nodded at his words. “That’s right – Dia ‘planned to murder her as well.’ But she didn’t succeed. That is the mistake she has made.

“You see, while Maven von Brandt was with you, those who had been sent out to murder his wife Manon arrived at their house. However, when they entered Meinkot Manor, Manon von Brandt, as well as some servants, were already long gone. Furthermore, when those who were forced to work in the von Brandts’ brothels were counted and compared to the registers Manon didn’t manage to take with her when she escaped, it turned out that twenty-three persons were still missing.

“In fact, we found out about the von Brandts quite a while ago, but the sudden case of death threw Dia off the ground. Unlike usual, she overlooked certain things and wasn’t careful enough. That led to Manon being able to escape.”

“So the Countess brought us all together to form a plan to find out the whereabouts of Manon von Brandt and the remaining twenty-three missing persons?” said Cedric.

“Correct or, well...” Barrington looked contrite. “Our priority is to find Manon von Brandt. The search for her is all this mission is about. Watchdog work is not about helping people; it is about _helping important people to the Crown_. The von Brandts have kidnapped people for quite a long time now, but only when they started abducting nobles too, the Queen gave Dia the task to intervene. The nobles were all saved as long as they were still alive – all that is left now is to find and punish Manon von Brandt.”

“I cannot believe this kind of justice,” Cedric said, visibly disgusted. “The Queen should protect all her subjects – no matter the class they belong to. It is just sick. Scotland Yard is not the best force for tasks like this. At least, not now. That’s why the Countess has to undertake so many of their missions. If Scotland Yard is there for everyone, why not the Watchdog?”

“Kristopher – the work of a Watchdog is never about justice. It is only ever about duty.” Barrington looked up, staring at the ceiling but at nothing in particular. “And while Scotland Yard is for everyone, the Watchdog is only there for the Crown.”

 

 

_This reminded me of times better left unspoken._

_“Safety for those who can pay; the others are there to slay.”_

 

 

“But that is not everything, right?” Cedric said, directing his thoughts and the conversation back. “The Countess didn’t just assemble us for the mission; she also did it because she believes that she cannot do it on her own.”

Barrington nodded sadly. “Yes. Dia may say otherwise, but because she’s already made a mistake in this case, she wants to be as cautious as possible not to make another. She could handle this very well on her own – she is simply jazzed because of what happened two weeks ago.”

“This leads to the second of the three questions,” Cedric said.

“Yes.”

“‘Who died two weeks ago?’”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

_Manon von Brandt._

_I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, pain running through my temples. Pain was running from my temples through my body._

_We were here because of my mistake._

_These people had suffered and died because of my mistake._

_Because of my mistake._

_Because of me all of this had happened._

_Because of… because of…_

_And inside my head, all began to spin – to spin and spin with no anchor to make it come to a halt. I lost grip on my thoughts; I lost grip on the world around me._

_I heard voices I could not make out. I saw shapes I could not classify._

_I tried to reach out to hold myself in the outside world, in the world of reality, but all strength had left my body, and everything moved away from me while I was pulled away._

_Pulled away into a world of darkness – into a world of past days long forgotten. Into a world with a tint of green._

_Pulled away into a world I wasn’t familiar with anymore._

_And the pulling and the dragging, the lack of response of my body – as if I was buried under ice, as if I had died with no knowledge how – felt so familiar to me. So, so familiar…_

_And I heard nothing in this world in which I was a prisoner, had left all voices, all sounds, all cries behind me in the world outside._

_Until, faintly, gently, I heard a voice; I heard a sound so familiar and so strange at once – and I wanted to reach out and make out the words but my ears were deaf, and I was drowning. I was drowning; I was fading into darkness with a tint of green…_

 

 

“Cloudia? Cloudia?”

 

 

_A high, hysteric voice fought its way through the darkness surrounding me._

 

 

“She isn’t responding! Why isn’t she responding? Cloudia!”

 

 

_The same, the exact voice._

 

 

“Let me help.”

 

 

_Another much deeper, much mature voice._

_“Nobody can help me,” I wanted to scream, but no words left my mouth._

_I barely felt the hands on my body which shook me._

 

 

“Pull yourself together, Cloudia.”

 

 

_I was drifting away, but I wasn’t entirely gone now._

_Not now. Not…_

 

 

Holding her cheek, Cloudia gasped for air like a fish on land. It took a while for her senses to come back to her – for her to be able to see and process, for her to think and feel –, and when they had she saw that various pairs of eyes stared at her.

 

 

 _That…_ That _worked?!_

 

 

“Cloudia, are you fine? You suddenly became very pale and your eyes glassy before stopping to respond to our words,” Kelia said, her green eyes widened.

“She is rather pale in general,” Prunella pointed out, frowning. “As if she isn’t a commoner.”

“Those from higher classes aren’t the only pale people,” Robena remarked and turned away from Cloudia to glare at Prunella. “Some people can spend days outside while the sun shines brightly while staying as white as flour. Also, you have to learn some tact – the poor girl wasn’t feeling well just now.” She looked back at Cloudia and gave her a surprisingly warm smile. “Cloudia, how are you? Are you feeling better now? It was as if your consciousness has drifted away just now – is everything all right now?”

“I am fine,” Cloudia told her, her voice sounding weaker than she wished it did. “I think when I was brought here, I hit my head somewhere – the pain irritated me a bit, I guess. That’s all.”

Ainslie wrapped her skinny arms around Cloudia. “I was so afraid! I was so worried!” she sobbed, her blue eyes big and teary. “It was so odd – you seemed to have slept with your eyes wide open! I didn’t know what to do – if Robena hadn’t hit you, Jessalyn would have surely eaten you alive.”

“I am hungry but not deaf, Ainslie,” a girl with dirty blonde hair grumbled.

“Sorry about the slap,” said Robena. “Didn’t know what else to do. Does it hurt?”

“It stings a bit, but it’s all right,” Cloudia replied. “And you don’t have to be sorry – it worked after all.” She turned her gaze at Ainslie. “I am sorry for scaring you. But I am better now, so you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

Ainslie nodded before letting go of Cloudia again, but the young girl still pressed herself against her.

 

 

_I had to pull myself together until we had escaped or until I had found my necklace and contacted Cedric. If I fully drifted away before I had accomplished one of those things, I would surely die here, and none of the other prisoners would be saved._

_The Watchdog duty was about obeying the orders of Her Majesty and protecting those of importance to the Crown._

_Ainslie, Adair, Prunella, Kelia, Robena, Evander, and the others – all of them belonged to either the lower or middle class. None of them was of importance to the Crown._

_Therefore, I didn’t have to save them._

_But I would._

_Manon von Brandt ridiculed me – she escaped from my claws, she threw me into a cell, and took away my possessions. Maven and Manon von Brandt invaded my time of grief._

_I didn’t go easy on Maven – I wouldn’t go easy on Manon._

_I would throw her from the top of her beloved castle; I would steal from her just like she had stolen from me._

_My headache didn’t matter – my mental state didn’t matter. I would take her down; I would bring the others back to where they belonged._

_After all, I was Countess Cloudia Phantomhive – and there wasn’t a game I couldn’t conquer._

_I was Countess Cloudia Phantomhive – and I would fight until the very end._

 

 

Cloudia took a deep breath before she started to speak again.

“Let’s not talk about my headache anymore. Do you know any details about the Witch’s Castle and the labyrinth? Did you notice something interesting while being taken away? Do you have a clue what the purpose of the labyrinth is?”

“Oh, how curious!” Adair’s eyes started to shine. “Curiosity, I like to say, is…”

“The Witch was certainly not the one who came up with the idea to build a labyrinth,” Prunella interrupted him, her eyes dark.

Adair scowled at her before he slowly nodded. “I have met both Maven and Manon von Brandt – and none of them displayed a level of intelligence so outstanding even to _consider_ building a maze, less designing it. They think highly of themselves, but they aren’t the geniuses behind this facility.”

Kelia rolled her eyes. “The Witch and the Warlock are nothing but _morons_. They are crazy – crazy in behaviour, confidence, and arrogance. Without her butler, the Witch wouldn’t even be able to stand.”

“How many servants do they have?” Cloudia asked.

“Only three,” Robena said. “A butler, a gardener, and a footman.”

“That sounds like the beginning of a joke,” remarked Jessalyn.

“Those above us are jokes – but our situation isn’t.”

“The next time, I am taken – I will bite the Witch to death,” Jessalyn proclaimed. “And when she is dead, I will eat her and chew on her bones.”

Prunella snapped her fingers against Jessalyn’s head. “If she’s dead, you don’t have to eat her – if she is dead, you are free to eat anything.”

“Then, I am free to eat _her_.”

Another snap against her head. “Jessalyn – girls weren’t taken in a while now. You know that. Ever since the Warlock’s disappearance, only males were taken.”

Jessalyn rubbed her head. “I wish the Witch would take both girls _and_ boys too. If she did, she would be long dead and digested.”

“Back to the servants,” Cloudia said. “What do you know about them?”

“The footman is the one who brings us food and who takes us away and brings us back,” Ainslie answered, happy to provide information. “The butler is always with the Witch – he was never with the Warlock. I think the Witch always preferred him over her husband – that’s why the Warlock doesn’t like the butler. And Ava told us that she saw the gardener from time to time in the labyrinth. That’s all she’d ever told us about what can be found inside it.”

“Could the gardener be the one who constructed the labyrinth?”

“What are yew ’ryin’ ter do, girl?” Evander wanted to know, narrowing his eyes.

“I am trying to gather information to find a way to get us out of here,” Cloudia answered him, glaring. He laughed.

“ _Thee_  sound like Stephen! That idiot wan’ed ter get us aaaht ’ere an’ all – an’ yew know ’ow ’e ended up.” Evander smirked. “Thee are only a little girl.”

She scowled at him. “Who cares if I am a girl or not?”

“Thee aren’t a ’ero, girl. Stephen wan’ed ter be a ’ero an’ all – but ’e wasn’t. And yew aren’t one an’ all. OK?”

Cloudia glanced at Ainslie who blinked at her for a moment before she understood, nodded, and stopped to lean against her so that she could stand up. “I know that I am not a hero,” Cloudia started. “I will never say that I am one. But, at least, I am trying to help, I am trying to get us out of here.”

“Awright geeezzaa! It’s futile, girl. Know what I mean?”

“No, I don’t. Because if I try and am victorious, nothing was futile.”

Evander chuckled. “A dreamer, aren’t you? Thee’ll never win. If yew are ’ere as long as I, yew’ll see. Thee’ll see, girl, what we’ll all die ’ere sooner awer later – either at da Brass Bands ov da Witch awer da ’unger ov Levi.”

“Don’t make me laugh – I am not a dreamer; I am an _achiever_. And if I die, I will die in a fight, and I will die in honour.” A bitter smile crept on Cloudia’s lips. “Because, while Manon von Brandt is definitely not equal to me, who am I to refuse a challenge? Who am I not to defend, not to respect a woman’s honour – _my_ honour, Ainslie’s, Kelia’s, Prunella’s, Robena’s, and Jessalyn’s honour?”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

Barrington took a deep breath before he spoke. “Has Dia ever told you about the Phantomhive System?”

Cedric shook his head. “She has never mentioned it.”

“Queen Victoria grew up in the Kensington System – a system which should make her weak and dependent on Sir John Conroy, the comptroller of the Queen’s mother, the Duchess of Kent. Similarly, Dia grew up in the Phantomhive System. It was created to prepare her to become the next Watchdog. No other Phantomhive before her had to go through such a system, but she had because she was a girl and King William’s Royal advisers believed that without it, Dia would never be capable of doing a man’s job. Even now, they believe that she isn’t.”

“But the Countess is the youngest Watchdog the United Kingdom ever had,” Cedric replied. “And, arguably, one of the best.”

“They do not care about results,” Cecelia interfered, and Cedric turned his head to see the hard expression on her lovely face. “They see Cloudia, and they see a girl. A little girl living in a world of flower arrangements and afternoon tea conversations. They cannot see beyond. Cloudia is a girl born into a special position of society because she is a Phantomhive – but the life of every other girl in the kingdom isn’t easy and flowery either. We all fight our own battles in our own ways and manners.”

“The Royal advisers are idiots.”

Cecelia smiled. “Exactly, Not-Kristopher. They are indeed idiots. We can only hope that our Cloudia finds a man who is willing to marry her for who she is and doesn’t want her to change. Someone should never force another to change for love because when you do, the love you experience for this person, apparently, has no value as you cannot love them for what they are. And this is one of the most important things when it comes to love.”

She looked at Barrington. “And now, it would be the best for Barrington to continue.”

He cleared his throat before he continued. “I would have never imagined to ever hear these words out of your mouth, Cecelia. But well… Where was I? Right, the Royal advisers. You see, Kristopher, Dia’s childhood ended with Si’s death. She was such a little child when she was forcibly isolated from everything and everyone – kept as a prisoner in her own home only to learn and study. Only when I was allowed to see her when she turned six, and her sword and fencing training had to start…”

Cedric frowned. “The Countess can _fence_? I have never seen her even touch a rapier or a sword. She only ever uses guns or raw violence.”

A little smile appeared on Barrington’s lips. “I met her father at a fencing tournament when we were children – and Dia is just as talented as Si. And, for your information, Kristopher, I was the former Leader of the British Knights; I was trained to be it since my childhood – and I have never once won against Simon Phantomhive. Give this girl a sword, and you will be able to see the prettiest humanly possible smile before she chops your head off.”

“I guess that’s why our Barrington is only the ‘former Leader,’” Cecelia playfully remarked, and she even managed to make Oscar smile for a second.

It was rather disturbing.

“I have never lost against Dia though,” Barrington cleared up.

Cecelia rolled her eyes. “Barrington, the last time, she touched a sword, she was twelve years old.”

“Simon was twelve when he first beat me too.”

“But when he was twelve, you were the same age. When Cloudia was twelve, you were already thirty-eight. You cannot compare it.”

“But why does the Countess never use a sword instead of a gun if she is so talented?” Cedric asked before the conversation could fully drift away or evolve into a scowling contest between Barrington and Cecelia.

 

 

_Which Cecelia would have won anyway so that it would have been rather boring._

 

 

Barrington sighed. “I was a knight, and I taught her in a knight’s manner – but as a Phantomhive, but in the Underworld, chivalry has no meaning. There is no such thing as a fair match. That’s why she stopped her training after she became the Watchdog and focused on guns and hand-to-hand combat instead.”

“But just because of that, she didn’t have to give up on it entirely,” Cedric pointed out, and Barrington nodded, sighing again.

“I think Dia did that because, then, it would be easier for her. After all, if she practised every day with the sword, she would be sadder that she couldn’t use it in actual fights. Also, she doesn’t have time to attend fencing tournaments anymore – she did that when she was younger but in the disguise of a boy. They wouldn’t have let her do it, or, at least, they wouldn’t have taken her seriously.”

 

 

_This made me wonder what Cloudia and the Watchdogs before her had to sacrifice for their duty to the Crown._

 

 

“But let us get back to the actual topic,” Barrington said. “I was only able to see Dia again after Simon’s funeral two years later. In these two years, she was all alone in the manor – Penelope withdrew herself from society after her husband’s death, even from her own daughter; Dia’s other family members managed to get the permission to see her exactly twice, and all old servants were replaced.”

“Except one,” Cecelia interjected.

“Except one.” Barrington looked at Cedric. “It was a hard time for Dia, and all she had until her sword training started was the former Head Butler Theodore Clifford.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

“Thee sound like a bloody knight. Nuff said, yeah?” Evander said, grinning and showing his yellow teeth.

Cloudia chuckled. “For your information, I was raised by a man who raised two children who weren’t his all on his own, by a man who is a veteran, a world traveller, a monster fighter – by a man who put up with me for eighteen years and who will have to endure me for eighteen more.”

 

 

 _I was certainly not a knight. I didn’t live for the same kind of honour and glory they did. I was a liar. And when I fought, there were no other rules than the ones_ I _had picked._

_I was mean and achieved my goals through mean ways. I was walking on a tainted path – walking the same path was my predecessors._

_But that didn’t mean that Barrington’s countless lessons didn’t influence me, that they had vanished from my mind and soul on the day I had put down my sword._

 

 

“Thee are a fun girl.”

“This girl has a name – and it is Cloudia. And just like a cloud in the sky, I will move about freely again.” Cloudia scowled at Evander. “I fought numerous battles to prove my worth, and I will fight numerous more – because the reason I even get up every day is to prove everyone that a ‘ _mere girl_ ’ is just as worthy, just as capable as everyone else.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“A shadow who can be either your greatest enemy or your greatest ally – you choose, Evander Hamill.”

He stared at her. “How…?” Evander began but was interrupted by the closing of a door. He and Cloudia turned their heads at around the same time as the others except for Levi, a silent boy, and a boy rocking back and forth in a corner. They saw a little window in the door opening. A pair of honey-coloured eyes appeared behind it.

“Cloudia? Good to see that you are already awake. The Viscountess demands to see you.”

Again, everyone stared at Cloudia.

“But the Witch only takes _men_ ,” Prunella said, eyes wide and fixed on Cloudia.

“And what are _you_ even doing here? Who are you even?” Adair raised his voice and made Cloudia frown. “Where’s the footman?”

“What about Ari? And Bell?” Kelia asked, standing up and walking towards the door. “If you take her, at least, bring them back.”

“Stay where you are,” the man behind the door said. “I cannot bring them back as they aren’t in any condition which allows me to lead them to the cells. And why I am here doesn’t have to concern you.”

Kelia stepped back, a horrified expression on her face. Robena, who had also stood up, held her and squeezed her shoulders. Adair who had also been standing by the door stepped away, knowing this procedure very well.

The man’s bright eyes were cold when his gaze wandered to Cloudia. “And now, Cloudia, come to the door. The Viscountess cannot await to meet you.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

“Old Ted was employed by Percival Phantomhive, Dia’s grandfather, to succeed the Head Butler Waylon Poole and to serve his only son,” Barrington told Cedric. “Theodore Clifford was twenty years old when Simon was born and, at that time, he was already a Phantomhive servant for a few years – I’ve once asked him what he did before joining the Phantomhive household, but he wouldn’t tell me. Si didn’t know it either, but he’s actually never asked him because he didn’t need to know it. You see, Si was the kind of person who wouldn’t dig further if he absolutely didn’t have to – unlike his daughter. You have no idea how tiring the fencing lessons with Dia were… She practically wanted to turn over every line in every textbook. _Thrice_. In that regard, I am rather happy that she gave it up. And you have no idea how tiring it was after we found Kamden – suddenly, I had _two_ of them. Of course, Kamden’s shyer and more silent, but…”

“Nobody’s interested in your parenting problems, Barrington,” Cecelia cut him off. “Oscar doesn’t have any children – thank Heavens –, I don’t have any children. I am not exactly sure if Not-Kristopher doesn’t have any children – we know so little about him, he could have a battalion of secret grey-haired, oddly green-eyed children running around.”

“I don’t have any children,” Cedric stated, and she nodded at his words.

“See, Barrington? We couldn’t be a worse group to which you could talk about this subject. None of us can relate. Also, you aren’t even in the position to give us advice for the future if any of us would become a parent one day. Everyone knows what a terrible father you are.”

“I am actually rather happy that you and Michael never had any children,” Barrington said, scowling. “Nobody needs small versions of Cecelia Williams.”

“Can we please continue talking about Theodore Clifford?” said Cedric.

 

 

_Who would have guessed that in a room with four people, I would be the only focused one? Even if I could tell my fellow Reapers about it, nobody would believe me._

_I wanted Barrington to rapid up. After all, I had planned to go and find Cloudia so that she wouldn’t have to be alone any longer. If they kept on like that, Cloudia would eventually return, enter the bureau without anyone noticing because Cecelia and Barrington were still arguing, and we wouldn’t know that she was there until she loudly cleared her throat or anything like that, having watched us all the time._

_Preventively, I briefly looked around the room._

 

 

“Our time is running away,” he added.

Barrington and Cecelia stopped their argument, turned their heads to him, and blinked before he cleared his throat. “Oh, yes, right. Let us continue later, Cecelia.”

“If you expect me to forget that, you don’t know me at all, Barrington,” she replied, sitting down next to Oscar with a newly filled wine glass.

“I would never expect anything like that from you,” Barrington started. “Old Ted was already part of the Phantomhive household before Si was even born, so, of course, he was also there throughout Si’s entire childhood. When Percival died, Simon was nineteen years old; and right after Percival’s death, Poole retired, and Si and Old Ted became Family Head and Head Butler respectively. They had known each other for almost two decades and were, therefore, rather close. And when Si was murdered, Penelope locked herself away, and Dia was bound to the Phantomhive System, Old Ted was the only one who had never left her side in those dark years. He had an incredibly loyal and kind soul. I don’t want to imagine what would have happened if Dia truly didn’t have anyone by her side.

“For Dia, Old Ted was part of her weird little family because she had grown up very distanced from her biological one – after all, even after I had started teaching Dia, she wasn’t allowed to see her family more often than prior. Old Ted, Kamden, and I – we were her oddly brought together family.

“Old Ted knew Dia better than anyone else – and Dia who seldom looks up to someone looked up to him. He was ‘only’ a butler, but she adored him with all her heart. When she found Newman so that Old Ted could finally retire, Dia made sure that he could spend the rest of his life in a nice place and live calmly and peacefully as he didn’t have to associate with anything Watchdog anymore. They often wrote each other letters, and, at least, once a month, she visited him for tea to chat and to check how he was doing.” Barrington smiled at the memory of it before sadness laid itself over his face again like a cloud over a grey sky.

“In Dia’s life of changes and loss, of restriction and death, Old Ted was the only variable which had always been steady – he was there when she had woken up after that one month. He was there when the other servants of her childhood were sent away, was there on her birthday and Christmas, helped her in the days before the decoration to Countess and Watchdog. A lot had come and gone in Dia’s life even though she’s still so young – but Old Ted had always remained. Until now.

“And until now, Dia didn’t have to cope with another death in her family.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

The door closed behind Cloudia, and the man led her through the corridor. Right now, the others must be wondering why she was chosen and not Adair or Evander. After all, all they knew was that the Viscountess of Meinkot-Velpke took only males.

 

 

_This either meant that she was crazier than Kelia had told me she was or that she knew who I was. That I was so purposefully attacked in the forest and that the man knew my name indicated that the latter applied, but I concluded that both options did._

_I had never despised it more for being a guest of honour than now._

 

 

Cloudia followed the man through a door which was hidden in a wall. If you didn’t know where it was, it was nearly impossible to find, and even if you found it, you needed either a key or knowledge in lock-picking to open it. Cloudia waited for the door to close behind them before she raised her voice.

“It is ‘ _Lady_ Cloudia,’” she said, but the man didn’t respond to her. “You called me only ‘Cloudia’ when you came to collect me, but my family didn’t go through nothing to obtain a place among the British nobles. That’s why you should address me properly – or do you want to stain my family’s hard work?”

The man kept on looking ahead, not saying anything, not even indicating that he acknowledged her presence.

“Not that my family’s work wasn’t stained enough,” Cloudia continued nonchalantly. They passed by a few windows, and she wished that it wasn’t so cloudy today.

“I hope you are aware of my position? Aware of who I am? If you don’t, here’s a brief summary: I am Lady Cloudia Phantomhive, the daughter of Earl Simon and Countess Penelope Phantomhive, and fiancée to the enigmatic current Earl who succeeded my father as the Royal Family’s Watchdog. That’s the short introduction of my persona. Care to hear the long one?”

She counted his silence as a silent “Yes.”

“I am not only a noblewoman and engaged since I took my first breath on Mother Earth – I am also a lover of all things beautiful. I am a flower enthusiast with lilies being my favourites. I love white lilies the most – rather ironic considering my family’s duty, don’t you think? But, well, I cannot do anything against what my heart says. And it says to love not only flowers but also books. I read _Emma_ by Jane Austen more than seventy times, and _Oliver Twist_ by the brilliant Charles Dickens over fifty times. I want to reread every work of Dickens’ up to date one after the other without an evident pause, but I don’t have any time for it. Tragic, right? I should revive some old Greek writers to write a tragedy about it. No time for reading should be the topic of dramas – not love problems.”

Cloudia saw the man contorting his face for a second, and she smiled.

 

 

_If I was held captive against my will, at least, I wanted to get a little bit of fun out of it._

 

 

“Did you know that I have a magnificent memory? I can recite entire books and various poems. How about I recite _The Raven_ by Edgar Allan Poe to prove it to you? _The Raven_ has eighteen stanzas, each consisting of six lines. I wonder how far I will come until we get to Manon.” She took a deep breath. “‘Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore – While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. ‘’Tis some visiter,’ I muttered, ‘tapping at my chamber door – Only this and nothing more.’ Ah, distinctly, I remember, it was in the bleak December; and each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; – vainly I had sought to borrow. From my books surcease sorrow – sorrow for the lost Lenore – for the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore – Nameless here for…’”

The man turned towards her, and Cloudia had to stop just as abruptly not to collide with him. To her surprise, he laughed. “I believe you that you can do it – you don’t have to recite the entire poem. And how can a poem be so _long_? Eighteen stanzas are far too long.”

“That’s not very long,” Cloudia replied. “In the tenth or eleventh century after Christi, a poet called Abu ’l-Qasim Ferdowsi Tusi or just Ferdowsi from Persia wrote an epic poem consisting of 50,000 couplets – couplets are verses with only two lines. It’s the longest poem which was ever written by a single person. The poem’s name is _Shahnameh_ which translates to ‘The Book of Kings.’ It took Ferdowsi thirty-three years to put this wonderful piece of literature together.”

The man shook his head, chuckling. “You really talk and talk and never stop, right, Cloudia?”

“I would certainly never stop talking if I could recite Ferdowsi’s legendary poem,” Cloudia replied.

“Yes, yes, certainly.”

“And again, it’s ‘ _Lady_ Cloudia.’”

“We don’t have to be so formal, right? Also, you called the Viscountess by her first name rather than by her title too,” the man pointed out.

“But I am the daughter of an Earl, and she is a mere Viscountess – I am above her on the social ladder in many different ways. I am free to call her by her first name. You, however, are nothing but a servant.”

“That’s terribly impolite for a lady.”

“It’s even more impolite to try scolding a lady without properly referring to her.”

He grinned at her before he continued to walk. However, the man didn’t get too far as he realised after a few metres that she wasn’t following him. He turned around and blinked at her. “Why aren’t you coming?”

“I have various reasons for that,” Cloudia said.

“What _are_ your reasons?”

“First of all, I am not following anyone whose name I don’t know.”

“But… but you followed me just fine a minute ago!” The man shook his head. “You are really a funny girl.”

“That was a minute ago,” replied Cloudia. “I am a girl of principles, and my head is hurting a bit right now which is the reason why I only remembered my principles a minute ago.”

“I have a lot of patience – after all, you need a good portion of it if you want to grow plants.”

“Oh, so you are the gardener? What made you come and get me if taking people is the footman’s job?”

The gardener grinned. He had a charming grin, and she was sure that with it and his handsome face, he could fool any girl he wanted as long as she didn’t look through him – or knew that he served a criminal. And, well, was definitely one too. “Times have changed, my dear, but the hunt has stayed the same. Also, I am the gardener; I always take care of the weed.”

“I am not your dear.”

“Very well – then, the times have changed, _Cloudia_.”

“‘ _Lady_ Cloudia,’ you nameless Zounderkite.”

He smiled at her. “I like you; I really do – you are fun. Most of the prisoners are fun, but you are the funniest of them all until now. You are like a funnier, exaggerated version of Adair if you ask me. Still, I think we should go now.”

Cloudia raised an eyebrow. “You really are a Zounderkite, aren’t you? I’ve already told you that I won’t move a centimetre if you don’t tell me your name first. Isn’t it unfair for you to know my name but me not knowing yours?”

“Of course, I almost forgot.” The gardener theatrically bowed in front of her. “Axel Thadeus Evelyn Shade – son of John and Anne, talented gardener of Manon von Brandt, not a lover of poems – at your service. Or, well, not exactly at your service as you aren’t the one I’m loyal to.”

“Ah, I see. You mean ‘at your service to bring you to a madwoman with a smile on my face’?”

Axel showed her his charming grin once again before he started to walk but stopped when he noticed that Cloudia was still not following him. He turned around to face her, the previous softness of smiles and chuckles gone from his face.

“Cloudia –”

“ _Lady_ Cloudia Phantomhive.”

“– no matter how much I like you, I am afraid that I will have to shoot you if you keep this up.”

Cloudia glared at him. “It is not _my_ fault when you think that the words ‘various’ and ‘first’ mean that there’s only _one_ reason.”

“Then, tell me,” Axel said, the shadow not leaving his face. “Tell me your other reasons, my dear.”

 

 

_Oh, what a two-faced pathetic fellow._

 

 

“Second,” Cloudia started as if there had never been an interference, “why should I follow someone I don’t know to a clearly wicked person? Last but not least, you are not intimidating at all, Axel. Not even the soft, delicate kitten of my cousin Cathleen would shudder at your presence.”

He narrowed his eyes. “You are overstraining my patience.”

“Her name is Millie.”

Axel slightly frowned. “ _Whose_ name is ‘Millie’?”

“The kitten’s, of course,” Cloudia answered, rolling her eyes. “Don’t you ever listen, _Thadeus Evelyn_?”

With a swift movement, Axel took out a gun and aimed at Cloudia’s forehead. “Cloudia, I have to tell you to _move_ – and don’t ever make fun of my middle names again.”

She raised her hands and smirked while catching up to him.

 

 

_So he was in possession of a weapon after all – I wondered how easy it would be to take it away from him and make him whimper?_

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

“Old Ted became sixty-four years old – nobody was truly surprised when he died peacefully in his sleep one day. But that doesn’t mean that it’s easier to cope with his loss,” Barrington said. “There’s no death more painful than the death of those you have loved.”

 

 

_Barrington’s words made me recall all the times I had seen Cloudia in the last few weeks – paler than usual, thinner, weaker, with sad eyes, full of forced words and actions – but they made me recall something else too: The day I stared into the icy water and found me looking the same as Cloudia did now._

_No, I was wrong; back then, the fire in me had burned out, but right now, Cloudia’s was only weakened._

_And I doubted that this girl would ever allow for her fire to burn out._

 

 

“Why are you smiling like an idiot, Not-Kristopher?” Cecelia wanted to know, grinning like a Cheshire Cat herself.

“Oh, was I? I didn’t realise it,” Cedric said and stopped smiling.

“Oh, you surely did, dear. Could it be that you find joy in the death of love?” She slightly raised one of her golden eyebrows. “I am asking because you started to smile after Barrington said ‘There’s no death more painful than the death of those you have loved.’ I didn’t know that you like such morbid things.”

“For a split second, his face turned as grey as his hair,” Oscar pointed out when Cedric was about to say something. He had nearly forgotten that he was still there – which was ridiculous considering the eerie aura Oscar emitted. “Only afterwards did he start to smile – to use your words, Williams – ‘like an idiot.’ Underwood turned grey because of Weaselton’s words, but then, he thought of something else which brought said smile to his lips. As both reactions happened so quickly in a row, his second one has to be directly connected to the first – one thought led to the next.

“Considering that our conversation’s topic isn’t a happy one, a not entirely light thought he had associated with said topic must have made Underwood smile. Furthermore, not only his lips smiled but his eyes too – they sparkled in the same way the eyes of people shine when they are thinking of something they are particularly fond of. Or, well, if they are thinking of someone they love.

“As we have already established, Underwood is harbouring feelings for Mylady and refusing to admit them.” Oscar’s eyes met Cedric’s, and a shiver ran over Cedric’s spine.

“My conclusion is that Underwood must have thought of Mylady right before smiling. But what dark thought made him think of her and _smile_?”

“That’s not relevant, Oscar,” said Barrington surprisingly sternly. “We can discuss the matter of Kristopher’s chain of thought later.”

Oscar blinked at him before leaning back in his seat. Cedric was beyond relieved that his unsettling gaze wasn’t lying on him anymore – and that the topic had been dropped. At least, for now.

“The death of a family member,” Cedric said, clenching his hands together. “Theodore Clifford, Kamden, and you, Barrington: As you’ve said, you were the family she chose. And, of course, even the Countess would be terribly saddened by the death of family – but I would have never expected her to be so… For her to be so thrown out of balance because of it. Nevertheless, I am certain that she will find back her balance in no time.”

Barrington smiled. “Dia’s an unbelievably strong girl. She will find her way back to a balance which suits her best in her new situation.”

“You said that even if Theodore Clifford hadn’t died recently, the Countess would still be like right now because of her father’s death anniversary.” Cedric looked at him. “I don’t know a lot about Simon Phantomhive. Most of my knowledge comes from what the Countess told me: that he had been murdered when she was nothing but a little child, that he was an admired member of high society despite his oddities and a brilliant Watchdog who only wasn’t able to solve the case he had investigated right until his death. She has never told me that he died only a few days after her birthday and that she _witnessed her father’s murder_.

“Before meeting the Countess, I’ve already heard some things regarding Simon Phantomhive’s death – but every piece of information was nothing but vague. Just like the Countess’ memory of it, as it seems. But what _did_ happen on April 10?”

A shadow ran over Barrington’s face. “Kristopher, my boy, I am afraid that almost all you know about Simon is false.

“Because, you see, there’s something terribly wrong with Dia’s memory.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

“Lady Cloudia Phantomhive! I welcome you!”

 

 

_The corridors of the Witch’s Castle were held in rosé and gold and brilliant rubies – and with every step, you could see more exhibitions of wasteful financial expenditure. But the hall to which Axel ultimately led me was even worse: a gigantic chandelier of blood red rubies hanging from the ceiling’s centre, a long rectangular table which seemed to have solely been made of gold, a glittering ground, fine crystal tableware._

_The bright gold-red light burnt in my eyes which had become more sensitive due to my headache, and the smell of the many, many dishes on the table made me nauseous._

_At the top of the table sat a woman in a pompous red dress, to her right a man with black hair and bronze-coloured eyes. The woman was terribly ugly with her brown hair fading to uncanniness at the tips, and a dumb expression on her face which seemed to have got stuck between child- and adulthood._

 

 

With her head upright, Cloudia walked to the table’s end and sat down. Axel tied her up to her chair before walking to the top and positioning himself to his mistress’ left side.

At the far end of the hall stood an enormous grandfather clock whose hands showed that it was almost three o’clock. Cloudia wondered if Cedric and the others were already searching for her.

“Manon von Brandt, if you wanted to invite me to lunch, you could have sent me a letter or a card like everyone else does,” Cloudia said.

Manon von Brandt, the Viscountess of Meinkot-Velpke, giggled. “My dear Lady Cloudia, we both know that neither you nor I am like ‘everyone else.’”

 

 

_Cecelia liked to refer to me, Oscar, and, sometimes, Barrington as “dear.” And now, to Cedric too. We were colleagues; we knew one another. Manon and her annoying gardener, however, had the weird habit of calling people they didn’t know “their dears.” It was rather disturbing, even more so considering the fact that both of them were crazy psychos and mostly only talked to those they wanted to kill._

 

 

“I do,” Cloudia agreed, smiling. “I am more a person of bad than good while everyone else is rather balanced – and you are by far more worthless than most.”

“What a fine sense of humour, Lady Cloudia.”

“What an outstandingly low intelligence, Manon. Mistaking serious facts for jokes.”

Cloudia didn’t break eye contact when she took a grape from a bowl and put it into her mouth. Even from here, she could see how Manon had paled.

“Not poisoned?” Cloudia pointed out when she had swallowed the grape and had done her best to hide her sudden urge to gag. “You could have got rid of me in mere minutes or even seconds if you had poisoned the food. I would be surprised and disappointed at once if I didn’t know that you are the pitiful kind of villain.”

Manon shook her head. “I am afraid that, dear, you are mistaking pitifulness for classiness.”

Cloudia propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin on her hands, presenting Manon her most beautiful grin. “I am not your ‘dear,’” she said before casually continuing to eat some grapes.

“So, tell me, Manon – why exactly are you acting like a fool, not killing me in the forest, not killing me right now? As you are already that much of a foolish fool doing foolish things only a foolish fool would do, you can continue wasting time and oxygen and tell me what your little evil plan is.”

Manon scowled at her.

 

 

_Composure was everything. Presenting yourself in a way appropriate to the situation was everything._

_If you weren’t usually very confident, you could fake confidence by boosting as well as you could._

_If you weren’t usually intimidating, you could think of the scariest things you could imagine._

_In situations like this one, it was important to make the other person, at least, believe what you wanted them to believe._

_In my case, I needed Manon to believe that I wasn’t on the verge of a catastrophic breakdown._

_In her case, she needed me to believe that she was just as evil and magnificent as she wanted everyone to think she was._

_And just now, she broke out of her role._

 

 

“Just like you’ve said, I could have killed you countless of times,” Manon said, trying to get her composure back. “But I didn’t. And you want to know why? Because just killing you would be too _easy_.”

“You mean that you are too much of a _coward_ to kill me right now,” Cloudia replied. “Kill me here, kill me now – colour your hall of gold with my blood. Colour the dawn of your wicked reign and use my blood as paint. Use my body, use my name – kill me here, kill me now with your own little hands and rise from my bones. Show all, prove all that you deserve a crown of darkness and write your name all over the Underworld with my blood and soul.”

“A poet,” Manon said, amused. “I do like poets.”

“I am not a poet. I only read a lot and have a rather morbid imagination.”

“And, apparently, a great desire to die.”

Cloudia grinned. “Nobody deserves to die as much as I.”

“Then, why don’t you just kill yourself?”

“Because,” Cloudia said, looking right into Manon’s eyes, “I will die when my time to die will come – and before it does, I will take as many of the likes of you with me as I can. Before that, my soul won’t find rest. And when the time of times finally comes, I will not be afraid. I’ve looked into Death’s eyes so often now that I am not scared anymore. When I die, I want to die at ease – I _will_ die at ease.”

“What an interesting girl you are – by chance, is the Earl everyone keeps wondering about like you? A seemingly sweet person but, in fact, rotten to the core?”

Cloudia smiled. “Who could ask for more than being rotten to the core? We are of the same cursed blood, share the same name and inheritance – we are as alike as two peas in a pot and nothing like those people next door.”

Manon laughed and clapped her hands together. “Marvellous! I cannot await to meet him.”

“Oh, so you really only abducted me to get your hands on the Earl? How predictable. What a predictable girl you are, Manon von Brandt.” Cloudia shook her head. “Don’t you have any surprises in you, girl?”

“I don’t need to surprise anyone, Lady Cloudia – your very life is in my hands. All that you are is dependent on nobody else but me.” Manon narrowed her eyes. “I am in a higher position than you.”

“But he won’t come.”

“Why shouldn’t he come? You are his fiancée, his _cousin_ ,” Manon replied, visibly thrown off.

 

 

_Her performance of the role she was playing was so shaky; it was quite hilarious._

 

 

“Manon von Brandt,” Cloudia started, bored and looking around the room, not finding anything interesting to focus on, “daughter of Niall and Rue von Brandt, sister to Giselle. I’ve heard that you were the black sheep of your family, the ignored, the untalented, the fatal slip of hand in a perfect embroidery. Your younger sister Giselle was wonderful in all regards and constantly surrounded by suitors – until the day you forced her to do something which scarred her and robbed her of her happiness. She killed herself – but you were the one to take away her life. I think that is a wonderful example of ‘Whom interests blood relations?’ But the Earl doesn’t come because he despises me, because he doesn’t care of those of the same blood and family – he doesn’t come because he trusts me. He trusts his ‘mere little Countess’ to get out of here all on her own. He trusts me – just like you should have trusted your sister that, despite everything, she loved and respected you like no other person on Earth did.”

Cloudia smiled. “Do you want to kill me now?”

Manon laughed. “You wish!”

“Well, today, someone already told me that I was a dreamer.”

“What a strange dreamer you are – so many dream of glory and power, of happiness and love. And you, Cloudia Phantomhive, you dream of gods and monsters – you dream of death.”

“Everyone has their idiosyncrasies.”

She burst into laughter again. “Entertainment, Lady Cloudia! You should be an entertainer like your mother.”

Cloudia sighed. “Why don’t you stop beating around and start doing to me what you did to every other of your prisoners? This conversation is getting more and ridiculous with every word which leaves your mouth.”

Manon chuckled. “I think it would be better if we wait until our second guest of honour arrives – your beloved Earl of Phantomhive. I am certain that he would love to watch.”

“You rehearsed that very well, Manon,” Cloudia replied.

“What do you mean with ‘rehearsed’? I didn’t rehearse anything at all.”

“I am just remarking that you look like someone who stands before a mirror and practices appearing fierce and intimidating. Whoever wrote the script of this little play deserves an award – and you too as its worst actress.”

 

 

_Just after I had spoken those words, the pain in my temples suddenly doubled, and Manon’s reply sounded too loud and too sharp that I had to do my best not to try covering my ears. My vision blurred and I blinked._

 

 

“Oh, you don’t look very well, my dear,” Manon said, grinning smugly. “Are you all right?”

 

 

_Manon’s voice mixed with the one whose source and words I couldn’t classify, and I had to strain myself to catch Manon’s words somehow._

_Why now?_

_Why did things like these always had to happen in the worst possible moments?_

 

 

“Never felt any better,” Cloudia managed to press through her teeth.

“Are you sure? You look so pale.”

“People keep telling me that – but I am a noblewoman with a love for books and staying inside. Of course, I –”

A sudden explosion of pain interrupted her, and all blurred into one another – colours, smells, sounds –, and, faintly, there was green light dancing in front of her eyes and an odd voice ringing in her ears, and she fell into unconsciousness.

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

“With the ‘I-am-a-walking-library’ Countess’ memory?” Cedric replied. To him, that something was wrong with Cloudia Phantomhive’s powers of recollection sounded as believable as the existence of pink-coloured elephants.

Or as believable as even the Grim Reapers’ knowledge of Simon Phantomhive being faulty.

 

 

_But if the general knowledge people had about him was wrong – could that mean that the little rumours I’d heard about him in the Dispatch were true?_

 

 

Barrington sighed. “Yes. She has a remarkable memory. At least, her memory is remarkable most of the time, but ever since she witnessed Si’s death, it is as if her memory is… malfunctioning.

“I wasn’t there for the immediate aftermath of Simon’s murder as I wasn’t allowed to be there. That’s why I only know what Old Ted told me about it right after Dia had her first attack while I visited – prior to that, it has somehow never happened while I was at the manor. You have no idea how scared I was when Old Ted came to me one morning to inform me about it.

“Seven days before Simon’s death, he was given what would be his last case. To investigate it, he had to go to London. It was an odd case, the infamous Delaney Case, and he knew that he would never be able to solve it before Dia’s fourth birthday. He didn’t want to miss it, but even more, he didn’t want to take his family with him to London. This is something he never did when he was working on a case because Penelope and Dia would be safer at the manor as Simon had tightened the security at the manor after Genevieve’s death two years prior.”

“Why did you do that?” Oscar demanded to know.

Cedric frowned. “Why did I do what?”

“Flinch,” Oscar said, and Cecelia nodded in agreement. “Flinch at Genevieve Phantomhive’s name and death.”

Involuntarily, all colour left Cedric’s face.

 

 

_I didn’t even realise that I’d flinched._

 

 

“Uh... It’s because that the Countess and I were in Edinburgh on Christmas...”

“Ah, the Parks Kidnapping Case,” Cecelia interjected.

Cedric slowly nodded. “Yes. Well, during our stay in Edinburgh, the Countess had nightmares, and I stayed by her side because of that. When I asked her about them, she told me that she saw her grandmother in her dreams. However, she doesn’t know why.”

Cecelia raised one of her eyebrows. “Wait a minute, just to be certain ‒ _you were in Cloudia’s bedroom at night_?”

“Yes,” Cedric answered her question without thinking, and as soon as the word had left his mouth, Barrington yelled: “ _What the hell were you doing in the bedroom of my best friend’s precious jewel?!_ ”

“Barrington,” Cecelia said after a while of awkward silence, shaking her head, “how can you want to be respected like the adult you claim you are when you say such things?”

Then, she turned to Cedric. “You shouldn’t say such things in company, Not-Kristopher. _Especially_ not in front of Mr Parent-Dog Sitter-Slept on the Ground for Months-Old Man Aristocrat. He may look like a useless weakling, but he didn’t become an Aristocrat of Evil just because Genevieve Phantomhive forced him and her son to a playdate years before. After all, he was the Head Knight of Great Britain for eleven years – it was rather fortunate for us that the Kingdom didn’t fall in this period.” Barrington scowled at her, but Cecelia’s face brightened up. “On a side note, I am rather excited to hear that Cloudia is not the prudish wallflower I’ve always thought she was! Now, I can finally have more fleshed out ladies’ talks with her!” She giggled. “But giving something so precious to someone whose true intentions she doesn’t know? I would have expected more of our Cloudia.”

“ _What?_ ” said Cedric and Barrington in unison before the latter jumped up from his seat. The next moment, Barrington held a letter opener in his hand Cedric had no recollection he had taken out.

“I challenge you to a duel, Duke Underwood,” Barrington said. “As a knight, I allow you to choose a weapon. As an enraged substitute parent, I only allow you to choose between Cecelia’s wine glass and Oscar’s cufflinks.”

Oscar turned his gaze at Barrington.

“Special edition: The plan has changed, Underwood – I allow you to choose between Cecelia’s wine glass and Cecelia’s wine glass.”

“With or without the wine inside?” asked Cecelia.

“Without, of course. I’ve only said ‘wine glass.’ Not ‘filled with wine glass.’”

“Then, I will have to drain it, I guess.”

“No hurries, Cecelia. Drop by drop.”

“I’ve only comforted her!” Cedric defended himself.

Cecelia grinned from behind her raised glass. “We are all adults here, Not-Kristopher. We all know what ‘comforting in a bedroom’ means. I ‘comfort’ people for information all the time.”

“I will defeat you, and I will burn you alive,” Barrington declared, fidgeting with the letter opener.

 

 

_Now, I knew why Cloudia rarely assembled all of her Evil Noblemen. They were highly distractible and ridiculous._

 

 

“I assure you all that I’ve never slept with the Countess nor that I’ve even thought about sleeping with her. Furthermore, I’m rather sure that this is a situation in which I will never find myself – and the Countess wouldn’t think differently. Actually, I am certain that she will either threaten your life or vomit if you asked her about it,” Cedric clarified.

“Hm. You are indeed right about that,” Barrington replied, only slightly lowering his letter opener. “Dia doesn’t have such low standards.”

Cecelia and Oscar nodded at his words.

 

 

_Of course, the only thing they agreed with had to be something like that._

 

 

“As the duel’s cancelled and everything’s clarified now, we should continue with Barrington’s story about what happened on April 10, 1834,” Cedric said sourly.

“Who said that the duel’s cancelled?” Barrington replied, bewildered. “Even if you’ve reminded us of Dia’s standards, a duel would be phenomenal exercise. Or are you _scared_?”

“You are so full of yourself, Mr Parent-Dog Sitter-Slept on the Ground for Months-Old Man Aristocrat,” Cecelia said, rolling her eyes.

“First of all, Oscar’s older than me,” Barrington said. “Second: I didn’t sleep on the ground for months! I slept on futons. _Futons_! They comprise of a mattress and a duvet! And, last of all – did you just make a Watchdog joke?”

“But you _do_ lay those futons on the ground, Barrington.”

“But _I_ don’t sleep on the ground! I sleep on a mattress! The _mattress_ sleeps on the ground! _I am not a mattress!_ ”

Cedric cleared his throat. “As we’ve now established that Barrington’s not a mattress…”

“We haven’t established whether or not he’s a doormat,” Cecelia cut him off.

“As we have now established that Barrington is not a mattress,” Cedric repeated, this time, a bit louder, “can we please continue? We haven’t got all time in the world. The Countess could return at any minute.

“Or, if you don’t want to continue, I will now go and search for her.” He was about to stand up when Cecelia reached over the side table between their seats and took hold of his arm.

“No, no, Not-Kristopher! Please stay. We will miss you if you go, and don’t worry – Barrington will continue his story.” She smiled.

“How can a moron say so many true things on a day?” Barrington said, putting away his letter opener and sitting back down.

“That’s what I am asking myself on one of your nearly intellectual days, Barrington,” Cecelia meant, letting go of Cedric and leaning against the backrest again.

He glared at her before continuing. “Si left Penelope and Dia at the manor and went to the townhouse on his own. However, Simon promised that he would solve the case until April 10, and arranged for Penelope and Dia to join him at the townhouse for a little belated birthday party on the same day.

“Old Ted told me that when they arrived on April 10, Dia went to find and greet her father first. Later, Dia’s nursery maid Mabel found her traumatised and unresponsive in the winter garden. Simon was nowhere to be seen, and Old Ted went to search for him. Eventually, he found his corpse somewhere in the townhouse’s garden – Dia must have found him, seen the murder, and somehow managed to escape to the winter garden.

“Poor Penelope had stayed by her daughter’s side and tried to calm her while Ted searched for her husband – only for him to return with the worst kind of news. But that wasn’t the last blow, Penelope had to take: Shortly afterwards, Dia lost consciousness – and didn’t wake up until a month later. And when she had finally woken up again, she had lost all of her memories. She couldn’t remember her own name, couldn’t recognise her own mother. Penelope and the rest of her family helped her to re-learn their names, to get to know everything again. They brought her from doctor to doctor, but nobody could help her. At some point in May, Penelope locked herself up in her chambers and refused to go out again. In June, the King implemented the Phantomhive System, and Dia was isolated from her family she had barely got to know again. All old servants except Old Ted were fired and replaced, leaving only him to be there for Dia during one of her ‘attacks.’

“You see, Kristopher, every time Dia overworks herself, is too stressed out, or anything even slightly reminds her of that moment when she found Simon, she gets a headache. And if it gets worse and worse because she cannot rest and calm herself, will lead to her having an ‘attack’: She loses consciousness, and you can never know when she will wake up again. But she doesn’t just lie in silence until waking up – it’s more like she has a really bad dream, always rolling around, shouting, screaming. And, well, she kind of has: In the period of her attack, Dia’s usually trapped in the time between her arrival at the townhouse and her discovery in the winter garden. But Dia once told me that she cannot grab it – her memory is blurry and vague, even if she’s trapped in it. She has to relive it over and over again – without ever finding out what exactly she’s reliving.”

 

 

_I recalled all the instances when Cloudia had had a headache._

_After the resolution of the Inner London Murders and Salisbury Villa Bombing Case._

_During our stay in Wales when she got a sunstroke._

_In Edinburgh, the night before we met Ladarius Parks._

_And, last year, when I had come to visit her on her birthday, Cloudia_ had _mentioned a headache, albeit she had blamed her relatives. This year, she had looked especially ashen, and I wondered if she had had a headache then too, was still suffering from one, but I hadn’t noticed._

_Every time, Cloudia had turned so fragile; every time, she had looked like a young girl again._

_And now, I knew why._

 

 

Cedric paled. “I… I cannot believe that the Countess has to live with something like that. Other people would have gone crazy after witnessing something so terrible as the Countess did as a child – and reliving it every now and then. It’s remarkable that she still hasn’t completely broken down.”

Barrington smiled briefly, but he dropped it as quickly as it came as if it had never been there in the first place. “Kristopher, Dia may not have exactly fallen into insanity, may not have been caught by it, but obsession – obsession didn’t spare her as insanity did.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

When she woke up, she looked into grey, and when her vision became more refined, she saw that it was more of a greyish blue and that there were white specks here and there.

 

 

_The sky. I was looking at the sky._

_Had I died?_

_I felt so empty._

 

 

Pain ran through her body when she raised her hand and held her palm up against the sky.

 

 

_Something was missing. I knew that something was missing but wasn’t sure what._

 

 

She focused her eyes on the white specks on the sky.

 

 

_My head felt so light; I couldn’t grasp a clear thought. And so I did what I had done ever since I was a child and needed an anchor for my memory, needed something to make me remember – to defog my thoughts again._

_I looked at the sky and listed the names of my family, my servants, and those closest to me in the same exact order as always. As always ever since the list had grown and changed._

_Simon and Penelope. Genevieve and Percival, Hortense and Edward. Eleanor and Isidore, Felicity and Aiden, Joanna and Jonathan. Cathleen and August, Keegan, Constantia, Clarissa, Celeste, Ceara._

_Newman, Lisa, Armstrong, Thomas, … and Teddy._

_Wilbur and Antonia._

_Barrington, Cecelia, Oscar. Cedric._

_Kamden, Blodwen, Dr Alan._

_Allie. Gigi and Ethel._

_Milton._

_And, in the end, my own name – Cloudia._

 

 

She kept staring up, stared at the clouds floating silently over a greyish blue canvas – and her hand, and her hand reaching out to it.

 

 

_With a click, I realised what was missing: the blue ring on my finger. The blue Phantomhive family ring._

 

 

She sat up and saw the stone walls surrounding her – saw the paths opening behind and in front of her – and she stared down at her hand which she laid down flat on the ground and ran her thumb over where the ring was supposed to be.

 

 

_I was Cloudia Phantomhive, the Queen’s Watchdog, and right now, I was also Manon von Brandt’s prisoner._

_Right now, I was inside the Witch’s Maze._

 

 

Cloudia stood up and examined herself, but except for a few light cuts and bruises, she was unharmed. But inside, inside she felt like she had died and come back.

 

 

_Why was I here? Didn’t Manon keep saying that she wouldn’t do anything to me until the “Earl” came?_

 

 

She wanted to examine the labyrinth’s walls, but when she stepped forward, she heard the crumbling of paper, and she looked down. She had accidentally stepped on an envelope. Cloudia stepped back, knelt down, and picked up the envelope before breaking the von Brandt’s seal and taking out a letter written on gold-coloured paper.

 

_My dear Cloudia Phantomhive,_

_How shocking your sudden breakdown was! My heart! My poor, poor heart!_

_I hope you have slept well as the hunt wouldn’t be very interesting if you were still asleep. I know what I have said earlier, but the main course is always preceded by an appetiser, right? The appetiser to your torture, held right in front of your beloved eyes, will be a little hunt!_

_I hope I won’t have to clarify who is the hunter and who the prey?_

_Manon von Brandt._

 

Cloudia crumbled the ridiculous letter in her hands and threw it against a wall. She was always against littering – England was already dirty enough as it was – but she decided that littering in an idiot’s maze was something else entirely.

 

 

_This would be a nuisance, but, at least, Axel’s words now made sense: “Times have changed, my dear, but the hunt has stayed the same.” I’d wondered what he had meant with “hunt.”_

_I ran my hand over the massive stone wall in front of me. Four things were clear: First, Manon knew my position as she and her servants brought me here; second, she wouldn’t kill me during the hunt as this was “only the appetiser.” Third, this didn’t exclude the possibility of getting injured._

_Fourth and last – I was at a disadvantage. I didn’t know the labyrinth’s structure; I didn’t possess any weapons. I was alone while Manon had her servants._

_For a knight, this situation was an unfair disaster. For the Underworld, this situation was as normal as the sky was usually blue._

_I didn’t participate in any hunts in quite a while – I hoped I didn’t go rusty._

_At least, I wouldn’t embarrass myself in front of_ him _._

 

 

With a little grin on her lips, Cloudia looked back and forth at the two ways she could take, calculating.

 

 

_Oh, labyrinths. If Cedric – or anyone else – was here, I could have told them so much about labyrinths and mazes! The well-known Greek mythos about the Cretan labyrinth, the Minotaur, Theseus, and Ariadne, the different patterns and builds depending on age and culture, the differences between a “maze” and a “labyrinth,” etc.!_

_Considering that I was part of a hunt of life and injury – I wouldn’t be killed after all – with a few madmen and one madwoman, didn’t make me less giddy with excitement when thinking of walking through a real stone maze with traps and beasts inside instead of the boring, little hedge version of one in the manor’s garden._

_That’s certainly not what I had expected when I had walked out of my house today._

_It wasn’t very difficult to escape from a maze – in theory. There was the right-hand rule, but it only worked when you used it from beginning on. As I was in the middle of these tangled corridors, I couldn’t use it. Also, I didn’t have anything to mark paths. I could pick up the crumbled paper and shred it to pieces, using them, but they would be too light, and considering that I was outside and it was rather windy, they wouldn’t be helpful at all._

_But was there even an exit to this maze? Robena, Prunella, Adair, and all the others had spent a very long time in their prison cell, and many of them had gone and explored the labyrinth – and had ultimately died as they hadn’t found a way out and had gone mad and desperate. But what if they hadn’t found anything because there_ wasn’t _anything to be found? What if the maze had never been designed to have an exit? What if it was only designed to drive people crazy and lead them back to the dungeon?_

_Even if I somehow found my way back to the others – I would never be able to escape. I knew where the secret door was; I knew where the secret lock was – but without a key, this knowledge was useless._

_I wanted to think further about it, but my headache returned, and I held my head. Damn. I wouldn’t be able to focus like that._

_But… but what if I didn’t even have to focus? Manon would never allow me to be killed during this hunt as she wanted to torture me however she liked after all. Didn’t that mean that all I had to do was escaping all dangers and staying low until Manon got bored and collected me to be brought back to the castle?_

_Another wave of pain ran through my temples, and I steadied myself against a wall. Whatever I had to do could be pondered over later. Now, all that counted was getting away from here._

_After all, Manon and her servants knew where I was._

 

 

***

 

 

Cloudia wandered around, trying to find a way to distinguish between the paths – distinctive irregularities of the walls, vegetation on the walls and ground, feathers of birds which had flown over the labyrinth, splatters of blood –, but the corridors looked exactly the same. The walls were too perfect, too even to climb. They were as perfect and eerily beautiful as the Witch’s Castle.

 

 

 _But there_ had _to be a flaw in this construction. After all, there wasn’t such a thing as “absolute perfection.”_

 

 

Until now, Cloudia had neither run into Manon, Axel, or the butler nor had she come across any traps or other obstacles.

 

 

_Something told me that Manon didn’t know the definition of a “hunt.”_

 

 

Cloudia kept walking and walking through those ways of pale grey stone.

 

 

_I wondered if Cedric and the others were already searching for me._

 

 

She walked and walked.

 

 

_If they were still sitting in the bureau and drinking tea and eating biscuits…_

 

 

And walked.

 

 

_… while I had to cope with this nonsense…_

 

 

And walked and walked.

 

 

_… I would…_

 

 

Cloudia stopped after rounding a corner.

A man bound in ropes was sitting against a wall. Upon hearing her steps and the discontinuation of them, he lifted his head, and she could see the dried blood on his forehead. His brown eyes blinked at her.

“Hey, you – why are you staring at me like that?”

“Who are you?” Cloudia asked.

“Answer for answer, girl.”

She fought the urge to scowl at him and said, “I am staring at you because I didn’t expect to find you here.”

The man sighed. “Of course, you didn’t. You don’t even know me. How can you expect something you don’t know? That’s so silly, girl.”

 

 

_Of course, of everything and everyone I could have encountered in a maze, it had to be another Zounderkite._

_The Zounderkite List of Fopdoodles was certainly ever-growing._

 

 

Cloudia crossed her arms over her chest. “Answer for answer, boy.”

He sighed again. “People usually call me by my second name – I don’t know why though.” The man looked up at her, his eyes bored. “Franklin’s the name. Not exactly pleased to meet you.”

 

 

_Franklin?_

_My thoughts did somersaults in my mind._

_Franklin should be dead. That’s what Prunella had told me: that he had died after going crazy and running blindly into the labyrinth._

_That’s what Prunella had said – Prunella who had always eyed me with suspicion._

“He didn’t run into the labyrinth _,_ ” _I remembered Adair’s words._

_Remembered his sentence which he had wanted to continue if it hadn’t been for Robena._

_Robena who had cut him off. Robena who had silenced him._

_Who hadn’t wanted me to know._

_Coldness ran over my body – Adair’s words echoing in my head._

“He didn’t run into the labyrinth.”

 

 

***

 

 

**~Cedric~**

 

 

_Cloudia was obsessed with books and talking about things nobody else but her cared about – but this wasn’t an unhealthy form of obsession._

_It wasn’t something which could easily turn into insanity._

_And she_ wasn’t _obsessed with her father’s death. She barely talked about it – it had never seemed to me that Cloudia could be so focused on it. That her wish to find out what had happened had fully consumed her – making her constantly think about it, making her repeat certain things over and over again._

_I had seen her “little obsession” with books – her brief mentions of her father and his death couldn’t be compared to it. It was, it was…_

 

 

“The Countess is not on the verge of insanity,” Cedric firmly said. “She isn’t obsessed with finding her father’s murderer – she barely talks about it. I know the Countess, have known her for over a year now – I know her endless love for books and small things. She keeps and keeps talking about things which greatly interest her.”

“Obsession doesn’t always have to be loud, Kristopher,” Barrington replied. “It can be silent too. And it isn’t something you can compare to her love for books.”

Cedric shook his head. “This is so ridiculous – I almost want to laugh. The Countess… she is perhaps not all right, but she is not frantically focused on this thing.”

“Kristopher. Don’t you think that Dia would cover up her feelings? The Royal advisers know about her attacks, and they barely tolerate them if you can even call it that. What do you think would they say and do if they found out that she has an entire room covered in notes, documents, newspaper articles, etc.?”

 

 

_What?_

 

 

“I know every…” Cedric started but he was interrupted when the Aristocrats’ Bureau’s doors flew open and the stable boy, Thomas was his name, entered, heavily breathing and with wide eyes.

“Falada,” he said, looking around the room. “Falada came back to the manor – but without Lady.”

Instinctively, Cedric jumped out of his seat, and his eyes wandered to the nearest clock –

– which showed quarter past one.

His blood froze in his veins.

 

 

_We had talked for what felt like hours – how could I not have noticed that the clock had stopped ticking?_

_How long had I been inside this room? How much time had passed?_

_For how long was Cloudia gone?_

 

 

“Oh, oh,” Oscar suddenly said into the tensed silence. “Finally, today’s game time starts.”

He smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Times have changed, but the hunt has stayed the same." is a translated quote from the German back cover of the first book of the _Department 19_ series by Will Hill. "I am not your dear" is from _The Selection_ by Kiera Cass.
> 
> I have a snippet collection for later (or never) for WotQ - and I was rather happy to have found a warm, nice place for Snippet #41 (beginning from "Why did you do that?" to "precious jewel"). It waited almost two years to finally see the light of day XD
> 
> So, well, see you next time - whenever that will be ._.


	23. Halloween Special: The Halloween Special, Not Scary

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	24. Christmas Special: Three Times Christmas (Part 1) - Festivity and Fear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _To my grandmother._  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> Hi! It's time for another update! (Even if it's, again, just a bonus chapter^^')
> 
> Some years ago, I already did a "Three Times Christmas" special for another FF, meaning that I uploaded one chapter every day from December 24 to 26.
> 
> Last year, I have already wanted to do this and was even almost done with it. (I wanted to keep the three segments rather short, wanting to upload them all at once on a single day instead of on three different ones.) But, in the end, as I had to write something for school and I didn't have internet access during Christmas last year, I didn't get around to finish it.
> 
> This year, however, I didn't want to finish it at first as well, but then, it itched in my hands... and now, I am going to (try) upload(ing) one chapter on the 24th and so on!
> 
> Here's the first chapter, and I hope you'll enjoy it :)

**London, England, United Kingdom** **–** **December 1833**

 

 

Every year on December 23, the Marchioness of Midford would invite a small number of guests to her legendary “Pre-Christmas Party.” Everyone wanted to attend one of these famous parties as they were known for their extravagant entertainment, but not many could fulfil all of the Marchioness’ strict criteria.

Simon Phantomhive and his family, however, were always invited.

Since he had been a young boy, Simon knew the Marchioness but despite the fact that they were good friends, he was still not very fond of the thought of attending her party. The reason for it was simple: Simon was not a friend of crowds. He had never been, and surely this would never change.

 

 

_I didn’t feel like doing anything today._

_I just wanted to lie down, just wanted to go back to sleep._

 

 

The happy cry of a little girl, his little girl, broke his thoughts and made him focus on reality again. Simon looked up to see his daughter running towards him. Arriving in front of him, she hugged his legs. “Papa!” she said, giggling and making Simon smile.

Simon might not be very eager to go to Midford Manor, but his daughter Cloudia was. She was full of energy, always running around, and endlessly curious – always asking questions about everything and everyone. Cloudia was so different from him with her bright, easy smiles, her sheer never-ending energy, but just like Simon, she was uncomfortable around strangers – and she would have dreaded to go to Midford Manor like Simon did if it wasn’t for their close relationship with the Midfords. They weren’t strangers anymore, weren’t it for a very, very long time now – they were friends, family.

For Cloudia, it was enough if she could spend time at a place with many strangers as long as she knew someone there. For Simon, it was still a nightmare.

 

 

_Unfortunately, I couldn’t go and talk with Barry and Penny all alone in some corner. Cloudie could do that with Allie and Gigi – but she was a child and I an adult. And adults couldn’t just run off with their friends and forget everything around them._

_But I wished, we could._

 

 

Cloudia let go of her father’s legs, and Simon knelt down in front of her, not caring if his suit got wrinkled or not. His daughter grinned her wide, radiant grin – and, just like always, he felt a little bit better.

“What’s the matter, Cloudie?” Simon asked softly.

His daughter leaned forward and whispered in his ear as if she was telling him a secret only he could know: “Mama’s looking pretty.” Cloudia started to giggle.

“She always looks pretty, Cloudie.”

“Mama’s looking _more_ pretty,” she firmly said with an expression on her face which reminded Simon a lot of his wife.

Simon pressed a kiss to her temple. “You also look very pretty, Cloudie.”

The little girl giggled, grabbed her dress’ skirt with her tiny hands, slightly lifted it, and made a little pirouette. Today, Cloudia wore a thick dark blue dress with frills on the dress’ seam in an even deeper blue, and her hair had been coiffed into two high curly ponytails which were fixed by two blue ribbons.

 

 

_She was just as beautiful as her mother._

 

 

“Really, Papa?” she asked when she faced him again, her eyes wide.

“Really,” Simon answered.

“Mabel helped.”

“Mabel did a splendid job.”

“Splendid?”

“Good, wonderful, great.”

Cloudia’s eyes shone. “Ah.”

“What are you two doing?” said a voice coming from the direction of the stairs. Simon looked up, and Cloudia turned around to see Penelope. Penelope who was wearing a pale blue and white dress with lace. Penelope whose curly hair had been pinned up with shimmering hairpins.

Penelope who looked even lovelier than usual.

 

 

_Even after all these years, it still felt like a dream that, of all people, she had chosen_ me _._

 

 

“Mama!” Cloudia yelled and ran towards her mother. She spread her arms to hug her mother’s legs like she had done before with her father’s. But right before she arrived in front of Penelope, Cloudia stopped and dropped her arms, most likely having decided not to potentially ruin her mother’s dress.

Penelope smiled at Cloudia before reaching down and lifting her up. Cloudia giggled and pressed her cheek to hers.

 

 

_And we had a daughter. A wonderful, wonderful daughter._

 

 

“Simon, dear, are you all right?” Penelope asked, worried. She sat down in front of him as best as she could with her dress. Cloudia had already freed herself from her mother’s grip and was talking with Clifford who was waiting by the entrance door.

Simon glanced at her before turning his complete attention to his wife – and the emotions swirling in her deep blue eyes. The worry, the uneasiness, the exhaustion.

 

 

_Penny was brilliant at playing roles but when we were together – not always completely alone, but like now, just alone by ourselves and unnoticed by everyone around us – she would be nobody else but herself. And, perhaps, no, I knew for certain, for sure, that this was the role hardest to play._

 

 

“I do not feel like going,” Simon said, his voice low and his bones endlessly tired.

Penelope gave him a sympathetic look. “Me too. Do you think we could just write Adaline a letter and offer to visit her for tea instead? On a date of her choice?”

“She will understand and accept it even without us having to make an offer to appease her. I’ve disappointed her for a very long time now. And then, there’s…” His voice trailed off when his gaze wandered back to Cloudia who was still conversing with Clifford.

“She was looking forward to it for weeks,” Penelope softly murmured.

“We should have organised more playdates…”

 

 

_But we hadn’t found any time in the last months. Penny had been busier than ever at the opera, and I…_

_I had worked and worked…_

_I was certain that I had never worked as hard as I had during these past months._

_I had always been useless, had always been nothing but a disappointment. I couldn’t do anything right, could only do wrong._

_But… but… There was one thing, that I, for once, wanted to do well. Even if I failed at everything else, I did not want to fail at that. And so, I had put all of the little energy I had into this project – and worked and worked…_

_And I thought, I guessed, I_ hoped _that after a little while more, I would be able to…_

 

 

Simon took another glance at his daughter, and Penelope took his hands in hers, turning his attention back to her.

“They are cold again,” she said, gently rubbing them.

Holding hands, they slowly stood up.

“We won’t talk to anyone tomorrow,” Penelope said with a low voice, and he nodded before resting his forehead against hers.

“Because, today, we will do all the talking,” Simon said.

“If we do all the talking today, we won’t have to do it tomorrow.”

“Yes.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes. “For Cloudia.”

And she closed hers. “For Cloudia.”

They took a deep breath, opened their eyes, broke apart, and Penelope quickly linked arms with Simon – her face shifting, her eyes now unreadable. And Simon straightened his back and braced himself.

 

 

“I will steady you, and you will steady me.”

_Like we had promised, like we had vowed._

 

 

And together, Simon and Penelope Phantomhive went to join their daughter and butle

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was rather funny to write as Simon never appeared before, and as Penelope appears to be much warmer here than when she appeared before.
> 
> Hope you had/will have a happy Christmas Eve! Or if you don't celebrate Christmas, that you can enjoy your free days^^


	25. Christmas Special: Three Times Christmas (Part 2) - Mistletoes and Misfits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _To every restless soul._  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> The good thing is that I got around to write again. The bad thing is that, hell, I have no idea what I am even writing anymore.
> 
> Still, I hope you'll enjoy these approx. 7000 words of whateverness.

**Edinburgh, Scotland, United Kingdom – December 1847**

 

 

“You have promised me a _fine restaurant_ ,” Cloudia said, looking around.

“Unfortunately, fine restaurants are not open at such _unfine hours_ ,” Cedric replied and happily buried his fork into a piece of chocolate cake.

 

 

_Today was December 24._

_Two hours earlier, I had hidden in a false altar and attacked a kidnapper, probably disgracing holy ground in the process. One and a half hours earlier, I had rescued Joseph Parks and reunited him with his father Ladarius._

_But as if my night had not been long enough, right after wrapping up the “Parks Kidnapping Case,” my not-entirely dead business partner Cedric had decided to drag me to a restaurant – a_ fine _restaurant to clarify._

_And to his fortune and my bad luck, he had even found a little place which was still open at this bewitching hour._

 

 

“We are in a small tavern in the middle of Scottish nowhere. It’s close to midnight. There are six persons in here – the owner, two men at the bar, three more playing cards a bit farther away. The owner looks rather shady. The two men at the bar look shady – the redhead more than the other. He is holding a box with odd symbols on them – what do you think they mean? The other one just seems nervous but what if he’s just playing a role? And I am certain that, just now, I saw a card-player cheat, and a knife flashing from the pocket of another. We are standing out in our nobles’ clothes – and even if it may not seem like it, these people are clearly watching us. Waiting and watching and – how did you even get a piece of cake in a tavern like this?”

“I’ve asked nicely,” Cedric answered, pleased with himself and the world. “Duke, the owner, may seem a bit intimidating but he is actually quite nice. And you are being paranoid, Countess. Nobody is watching us.”

Cloudia sighed. “It has been a long day. I don’t want to be involved in a petty fight with low-class alley cats. We should go.”

“You are not going to be involved in any more fights, Countess, I assure you. Should I ask for some cake for you too? Or do you want something else?”

“I want to return to the hotel and…”

 

 

_And what exactly? Part of me told me that I should just go to sleep, but…_

_Two hours ago, I had hidden inside a box and outsmarted a kidnapper – but this and the following fight against his accomplices had been… boring. Unsatisfying. Even after two hours and a short bath when we had stopped at the hotel to change, my senses were still at full blast, yearning for_ more _._

_I wanted a mystery, a riddle, a puzzle. Just like I had told Cedric, I did not want a petty fight against random drunkards for nothing at all._

_I desired a true fight – a challenging fight. Might it be a fight of wit or of fists. I needed something to spend all this excess energy which was running through my body._

_I needed a task, any task, a distraction,_ something _which could keep my restless mind busy, which could put me at ease, which could satisfy my heart yearning for_ more _,_ _which…_

“It seems that we are constantly drifting closer, Mylady.”

 

 

“Countess? Countess!”

Cedric’s voice tore her out of her thoughts. Cloudia blinked at him and clutched her hands beneath the table.

“Yes?”

“You started a sentence but didn’t finish it. Then, you did not respond to me. Is everything all right?” Cedric asked, genuine worry shining in his green eyes.

“Yes, yes. Everything is all right,” she said.

 

 

_“I was simply focused on everything and nothing.”_

 

 

“I just thought about something and it caught all my attention. I wanted to say ‘I want to return to the hotel and not spend any more time in this tavern.’”

Cedric mustered her for a while, his face oddly serious before he shook his head and let the matter go.

“I see, but we will not return to the hotel before you have eaten something,” Cedric firmly said, his gaze darkening. “I know that you haven’t touched my biscuits.”

Cloudia rubbed her eyes and sighed. “Very well. I will eat exactly _one_ piece of cake and then, we’ll go.”

 

 

***

 

 

The cake was wonderful. It was soft but not too soft. It was spongy but not too much. It was creamy and sweet. And Cloudia had no idea what kind of chocolate Duke had used but it was phenomenal – Cedric had told her that Duke had admitted that he had baked the cake himself. Cloudia made herself a mental note to ask him for the recipe when Cedric wasn’t looking.

“It’s odd,” Cloudia said after finishing her third piece, already missing it. The tavern had lost a few of its customers in the last hour. The red-haired man and his nervous companion had vanished into the night one after the other, and one of the three card-players had left as well, but his friends did not seem to mind the loss and casually continued to play.

“A bartender named Duke, baking cakes and distributing them only when being asked. Don’t you think it’s odd?”

Cedric shrugged. “Perhaps, all he wanted to open a bakery but all he can do is making chocolate cake. After all, bakeries offer more than one product.”

“But what happens if nobody asks him for cake? Does he eat it all by himself, then? How many cakes does he even bake per day?”

“You could ask him,” he said, nodding towards Duke who was polishing glasses behind the counter. “You ask him about the cakes, and I ask the two men back there if I can play a round.” Before Cloudia could shake her head and reply something, Cedric grinned, said “Let’s see who is more successful,” and promptly headed towards the two men in the back. Cloudia sighed and walked towards the bar.

From his physique, Duke reminded Cloudia of Newman but while Newman was a timid person, always staying in the background, always walking as quietly as someone with his stature was possible to do, Duke was intimidating and his sharp eyes seemed to see and catch everything happening in his tavern.

Despite that, Cloudia approached him as casually as she would approach almost everyone.

“Good evening,” she greeted him, sitting down at the bar. “Your name is Duke, right? I am Cloudia, and I just wanted to praise your cake. It was wonderful.”

She leaned her elbows on the counter which was as insanely clean as everything else in the tavern. “And I wondered why you don’t put your cakes on display? They are fantastic and would earn you a lot of money. Of course, this is a tavern and not a bakery or an afternoon tea club, but the cake could still fit with the other dishes and spirits.”

Duke put away the glass he had been polishing. It was shining like a crystal in the tavern’s dim golden light. “I am not baking them for profit, Miss.”

“I have realised that myself. My question is, why are you even distributing them in such an odd way if you aren’t baking them for profit? It feels like a chocolate cake black market.”

He mustered her, his green-eyed gaze lying heavily on her. “I have a daughter,” said Duke slowly. “She is my daughter but not exactly – we are not related by blood but I took her in nine years ago. A few weeks before we met, her father tried to sell her but she escaped and eventually tried to rob me in an alley. Her thin shoulders had been shaking, and so had her hand with which she held her knife – but her eyes were steady and determined.

“In the end, I let her rob me, but she realised that and, somehow, she managed to find my tavern. She came inside and quickly returned what she had stolen from me before she left again. In the next months, I saw her around my tavern more and more often, and eventually, I took her in.”

“What is her name?” Cloudia softly asked.

A little smile, which seemed so foreign on him, hurried over Duke’s face. “Dahlia. She likes chocolate cake the most, and so, I spent the last nine years finding the ideal recipe. I bake one for her every few days if she does not annoy me too much.”

 

 

_He spoke about his daughter with so much love in his voice, and I couldn’t help but wonder if my father had done the same when people asked him about me._

 

 

“But if the cake is for her, why are you giving it away?” Cloudia wanted to know, fighting back her presentiment and her other saddening thoughts.

Duke glanced at Cedric who was still trying to talk to the two men who masterfully ignored him and kept on playing as if he wasn’t there.

 

 

_I guessed I had won._

 

 

“Your friend came to the bar and asked for a cake which is not even listed on the menu. And when I told him that we don’t have any cake, he did not stop talking.”

“I am deeply sorry,” replied Cloudia.

“He made me want to say sorry to my daughter for ever calling her noisy.”

“You have no idea how well I can understand your suffering.”

“You are wearing fancy clothes – but he is not behaving fancily at all. He knocked over a glass.”

“Not everyone born into fancy clothes is actually fancy as well.” Cloudia straightened on her seat. “I will pay for the glass.”

Duke shook his head. “No, you don’t have to, Miss. He knocked it over but I caught it before it could fall to the ground and break. _Nobody_ dirties my tavern.”

She nodded. “Very well. Then, I will promise to train him better.”

“Thank you, Miss.”

Cloudia took a deep breath. “And why did you give him your daughter’s cake?”

“Because I wanted him to be quiet and go without having to throw him out – throwing out people always leaves such a mess. And because the cake was getting cold…” Duke trailed off and absentmindedly took another glass to polish. “Dahlia… She is a free spirit, a wanderer – always everywhere and nowhere. She can’t stand still, always has to wander around and explore. That’s why I made her run errands for me. They send her to every corner of London, and I guess, it satisfies her to some extent. But… but her errands for today should be done and she should be long home.”

“I will search for her,” Cloudia said immediately, and Duke raised an eyebrow. A question lingered in this movement, but it wasn’t _“A girl like you?”_ but _“Can I trust you with this?”_ , and this made her endlessly happy.

Cloudia smiled. “It is part of my occupation to find people. The idiot who accompanies me is my assistant. I will gladly find your daughter, Mr Duke. I was bored anyway.”

 

 

_First Joseph and Ladarius, and now, Duke and Dahlia. Even if my blood was not yearning for more, I would have offered Duke my help. It was Christmas, after all. And you should never spend Christmas alone._

 

 

She hopped off the chair. “So – how does your daughter look like? And what were her last stations for today?”

 

 

***

 

 

“I could have sworn that you wanted to return to the hotel right after finishing your cake and asking all your questions,” Cedric said when they walked through the streets of Edinburgh a few minutes later. The men at the tavern had just kept ignoring him, and Cedric was still a little bit sulking because of that.

“Oh, you’re surprisingly right on that,” replied Cloudia. “But the last question for today isn’t ‘What is the mystery behind Duke’s cakes?’ but ‘Where is Dahlia Duke?’”

 

 

_Duke had told me that his daughter – short brown hair, brown eyes, skinny, wearing an old black top hat, about my height – never came home late. Even if she was gone for days, Duke knew about her extended explorations beforehand. She had a wanderer’s soul but still, she always found her way back to Duke’s tavern._

_Dahlia’s last few stations for today had been Armchair Books, John Menzies – I hoped that this place wasn’t involved in her disappearance –, and a ship docked at the shore in Leith._

_We went to Armchair Books first. It was already closed, but we were able to wake the owner who was living in an apartment above the second-hand bookstore. He was sleepy but friendly enough to answer all our questions._

 

_Had Dahlia Duke been here? – Yes, she had._

_Had she behaved oddly? Had something seemed to be out of place? – No._

_She hadn’t_ _been in a hurry? – No._

_Had there been anyone suspicious watching or following her? – Not that I had noticed._

_Had Dahlia said something about going somewhere? – She had only said that she had to go to Menzies now._

_Anything else you might want to tell us? – Uh… No._

 

_Then, we had headed to 61 Princes Street._

 

 

John Menzies was closed when Cloudia and Cedric arrived.

 

 

 _John Menzies was a bookstore which also sold magazines and stationery, and the only reason why I wished that Dahlia’s disappearance wasn’t connected to this place was the fact that in 1834, Menzies had been the only store in east Scotland which had been allowed to sell Dickens’ novel_ The Pickwick Papers _._

_It was a silly, unprofessional thought to have, but, to me, Dickens meant everything good to me. And even if it was about something like that, something so marginal, I did not wish for it to be tainted in any way._

 

 

Unlike the owner of Armchair Books’, the owner of Menzies wasn’t conveniently living upstairs, and as the store was closed and the hour so late, they weren’t able to contact, even less question, him. Of course, they could always refer to the next police station but as the Watchdog usually operated solely in England, the police in other parts of the United Kingdom often did not know about this special position. This meant that as long as they weren’t so lucky to find a station with a working police officer who knew about the Watchdog, they would lose a lot of time with explanations. After all, who would easily believe that a girl like her held a position like that?

And so, they decided to go to Leith first.

 

 

***

 

 

_When we arrived, I closed my eyes and breathed in the salty sea air for a moment._

_I had never left the British Isle and doubted that I ever could. After all, my life was bound to it. And while I had accepted this a very long time ago, a small, forever-hopeful part of me screamed out her wish to travel, every time I was at a shore and smelled the air of freedom._

_Of…_

 

 

“You’re especially absentminded today, Countess,” Cedric said, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Cloudia looked at him – and her heavy thoughts were blown away when she saw him struggling with his hair which was caught by the wind.

“In need of a haircut? Lisa is a wonderful hairdresser – she always cuts Newman’s hair and the tips of mine. Even Armstrong lets her touch his hair and he is very vain when it comes to that.”

Cedric pushed away his ponytail which had been slammed into his face – only for streaks he hadn’t been able to grab to whip into his eyes. At least, they were protected by his glasses.

“No, despite everything, I am very fond of the length of my hair – also, while I don’t doubt Miss Greene’s abilities, I don’t want her to get too close to me with scissors in her hand. I am not sure if you have noticed this but she is not particularly fond of me.”

A grin found its way onto her face. “I am not so dense, Undertaker.”

He grinned back at her before he said, “Back to your absentmindedness, Countess – what did you think about? Or are you just tired? It was a long day, after all.”

 

 

_I guessed I was tired – or, at least, my bones were but my blood was burning. My mind was spinning and restless._

 

 

“Just a silly little thought managed to sneak into my head. Nothing of importance,” Cloudia ultimately said, passing by the ships which were kissed by silver moonlight and rocked to sleep by the waves.

“Do you want to let me in on it?”

“Of course, not. To everyone their secrets, Undertaker. And now, let’s see if we can find Miss Duke.”

 

 

***

 

 

According to Duke, his daughter Dahlia had been tasked to tell the ship’s, the _Merry Thousand_ ’s, owner, Lucas Renn, that he still hadn’t paid for numerous the crates of alcohol he had ordered and bought via Duke’s tavern. And said ship – a beauty in white and yellow and brown – was docked on the other end of Leith’s port.

But Cloudia and Cedric didn’t have to walk all the way to the _Merry Thousand_ and interrogate Renn who was living aboard his ship.

Because they found Dahlia Duke sitting on a bench only a few metres away from them. And with her was the red-haired man who had been in Duke’s tavern earlier. But when they had last seen him, he had been talking with his nervous-looking acquaintance and playing with an odd box – and now, he was lying unconscious on the bench with his head on Dahlia’s lap.

 

 

_And there it went – all my hopes to find something which could bring my mind to rest._

 

 

“Miss Dahlia Duke?” Cloudia said when she and Cedric approached her. Dahlia, who had looked up and narrowed her eyes when she had noticed them walking towards her, now frowned.

“How do you know my name?” she wanted to know, and something about her voice and posture told Cloudia that Dahlia would have attacked them if an unconscious man wasn’t lying on her lap.

“Your father sent us,” Cloudia replied. “He is worried because you still haven’t returned. And because my companion” – she nodded towards Cedric – “ate your chocolate cake, we offered him our help.”

“You ate almost as much of it as I did,” he protested but Cloudia ignored him, and Dahlia still glared at him before turning her gaze back to Cloudia.

“It took quite a lot of time to get the money from Renn,” Dahlia told her. The moonlight and the dim light of the streetlamps brought out the bruises and cuts on her face. She grinned nonetheless. “But I got it in the end. I was just on my way back when I ran into him in a nearby alley.” Dahlia looked at the man whose head still rested on her lap. He looked even more battered than she did.

“He had to lean against a wall while trying to walk, and I wanted to ignore him – but then, he suddenly lost consciousness and fell over, and I caught him. I didn’t want to leave him in the alleyway like this, but I am slightly injured, and he is quite heavy so I was only able to drag him to this bench. I hoped that he would wake up soon, but, well… I am sitting here for an hour now.”

“We saw him in Duke’s tavern a little bit over two hours ago,” Cloudia said. “How did he even manage to get here _and_ into a fight in this timeframe? He must have found trouble almost immediately after leaving the tavern.”

Dahlia shrugged. “I don’t know. His name is Cas, and he is a regular at Archie’s tavern. The only thing I know about him besides that and his name is that he is some kind of street magician. I often see him perform card tricks and other small tricks.”

Cloudia frowned. “Archie?”

“Archie Duke.”

Cedric started to giggle, and even Cloudia had to chuckle. “Archie Duke? Like _Archduke_?” Cedric said and laughed.

“I am the only person who is allowed to call him by his first name,” said Dahlia. “I think I am even the only person _who knows it_. If you ever refer to him by his first name, he will make you clean up the tavern for all eternity.”

 

 

 _That would be quite a catch. After all, for Cedric, an eternity_ was _an eternity._

 

 

“Very well… We will help you carry him to the tavern.”

 

 

***

 

 

Some time later, they arrived at the tavern – Cedric having carried Cas all the way. They left him there with Duke and Dahlia before they said their goodbyes and slowly headed back to their hotel.

And just when they left the sleepier part of the city and returned to the part where, at least, some houses were still awake and lit up, Cedric grabbed Cloudia’s arm, and she wanted to punch him for it but then, he pulled her on a bench and quickly let her go.

“Okay, Countess,” he said. “What is wrong?”

“You made me sit down on a bench without cleaning it from snow first,” she replied, annoyed. “Obviously, my dress is wet now. Great thanks. You are lucky that there are barely people on the street right now.”

“That’s not what I meant. You are even more absentminded than usual. You were sulking on our way back to Duke’s tavern. You were even sulking when Duke gave you the recipe for his chocolate cake as thanks.”

“I don’t sulk.”

“You were sulking.”

“I _wasn’t_.”

“Duke’s daughter and I think otherwise. We exchanged some meaningful, puzzled looks when you weren’t looking which wasn’t that hard because you seemed to be deep in thought and were sulking too much to notice anything.”

“For the third time: I wasn’t sulking, Undertaker.” Cloudia wanted to stand up but Cedric took hold of her hand. She scowled at him.

“What is wrong?” he asked. “We saved Joseph Parks. We brought Dahlia Duke home. Are you still mad at me for not bringing you to a proper fine restaurant? Even though you loved Duke’s cake and his tavern is incredibly clean?”

Cloudia shook off Cedric’s hand and sat back down, leaning against the cold backrest with a sigh. “I am not sure. It’s just that I am restless ever since I took down those kidnappers. It’s like I’ve tasted blood and was ready for everything, and then, everything was over so quickly, and I was left with too much energy and no way to get rid of it. I was hoping that the search for Duke’s daughter would be able to calm me, but it didn’t. And now, I am feeling even emptier than before.”

“I see,” he said and stood up, brushing snow from his clothes. She frowned at him. “What are you doing?”

“Well… the night is still young, and you have picked two activities for tonight but I’ve only picked one. It’s my turn to pick where we are going now.”

“You can’t seriously count a Watchdog case as a ‘jolly night-time activity.’”

Cedric stared at her. “Countess, we should hurry up and go where I intend to go for our last activity today.”

“Why? Because I must be crazy to defy you?”

“No, because you’ve just said ‘jolly,’ and this isn’t a word used by the normally thinking Countess.”

She rolled her eyes and stood up. “I am going back – you can go alone wherever you…” Cedric cut her off by taking her hand and starting to _run_.

 

 

_Mental note to myself: Finding a way to kill the dead._

“It seems that we are constantly drifting closer, Mylady.”

 

_I flinched but Cedric didn’t seem to notice, and only kept on going – and I let him. He grinned while dragging me through the streets of Edinburgh – and who knew? Whatever he had planned, I might enjoy it._

 

 

***

 

 

“You can’t be serious.”

Cedric grinned at her. “Come on, Countess. It will be fun. It’s Christmas, and we have no place to celebrate…”

“But we can’t just _intrude_ into a Christmas celebration!”

 

 

_We were standing opposite a villa in which a Christmas party was still going on quite lively. There were hundreds of guests – and Cedric wanted us to sneak into the party._

 

 

“You are a Phantomhive. When did you start doing things which were completely and absolutely right and just?”

“I am also a noblewoman and have a reputation to protect,” Cloudia snapped at him. “And right now, _so do you, Duke Underwood!_ ”

“We don’t have to go as Lady Phantomhive and Duke Underwood,” he replied. “We can go as someone else.”

“And as who?”

“I don’t know – just who we need to be. Come, Countess – if we can haunt the Lincolns with zucchinis, we can sneak into a party.”

“We were sleep-deprived on that day!”

“And now, we are restless. Or are you afraid, Countess?”

Cloudia took a step towards him and narrowed her eyes. “I am not afraid of anything.”

“That’s a lie – right now, you are afraid to go inside this house where nobody will know you,” Cedric said. “We are in Edinburgh, not London – what are the chances that we will meet someone who knows us? Improvising is a rather important part of the art of acting – and isn’t that the best opportunity to practice?”

“Is that a challenge, Undertaker?”

“It sure is.”

She grinned.

 

 

 _Well, I_ did _think that I would accept every challenge._

 

 

Cloudia extended her hand. “The first one who is discovered to be an uninvited guest and gets thrown out loses and has to wear false reindeer antlers on their head for the entirety of Christmas.”

Smiling, he took her hand. “Challenge accepted, Cloudia Phantomhive.”

“Challenge accepted, Cedric K. Rossdale.”

 

 

***

 

 

This is ridiculous _, I told myself when I stepped inside. There were people everywhere. There were laughter and chatter and the soft whisper of gossip. And I seemed to vanish beneath the surface of life and joy._

 

 

“May I take your coat, Mylady?” asked a servant, and Cloudia reluctantly gave him both. She didn’t want to part with them as she didn’t know how long she would stay but walking around in a coat would only make her stand out.

Cloudia snatched herself a glass of champagne and found her way through the masses, smiling to the left and right. Cedric was elsewhere – they had gone inside separated –, and she wondered what he was doing. She would have awaited to meet him at the buffet, but when she arrived there herself, he was nowhere to be seen.

She was just eying the food when someone approached her.

 

 

_Oh, hell._

 

 

A young woman with brown hair in pinned-up curls and in a red dress gave her a warm smile.

“Hello, there are so many people here – I guess, we still have to be introduced? I am Lady Rosa de Santa Espina y Blackmountain. It’s an honour to meet you.”

“I am Lady…” Cloudia subtly let her gaze wander around. “… Varanda.”

Rosa frowned. “Your name is Veranda?”

“ _Va_ randa. My parents like odd names. You don’t want to know my full name.”

She chuckled. “I see. You have quite an elegant English accent. What are you doing in Edinburgh?”

“I am visiting family. My cousin Callisto was invited to this party and was allowed to take someone with her – that’s why I am here now.”

“Where is your cousin now?” Rosa asked, looking around.

“I am not sure,” Cloudia answered. “She left me alone in a sea of strangers and went away. Callisto is always like that.

“By the way, what are you doing here? Aren’t you from Spain or…?”

“I am from Mexico,” said Rosa, smiling. “Last year, I was married to Lord Marcus Blackmountain. At first, I was not very enthusiastic about it, but after getting to know Marcus, I am rather happy. He is a wonderful person, and I am glad that I married him. And even if he had turned out to be terrible, I would have found a way to endure it. For my family, for duty, for society. You know how things are.”

Cloudia nodded.

“And you, Lady Varanda? Are you engaged or married as well?”

“No. Until now, nobody has asked for my hand in marriage.”

They kept on talking about nothing in particular before Rosa was dragged away by a blonde woman who wanted to show her something. Cloudia downed her champagne which she hadn’t touched before, put the empty glass on the tray of a passing-by servant, and counted to ten before throwing herself into the crowd.

In order not to blow her cover, Cloudia held onto the story she had told Rosa and kept telling everyone that her name was Lady Varanda and had come with her cousin Callisto who was, coincidentally, never to be seen or, well, ever heard of. On top of that, Cloudia piled lie after lie.

She told a man named Lord Chestnut, who had a cute, friendly face, that she, despite being a girl, loved to climb mountains and wished to climb the Mount Everest one day.

She told a woman named Ladana that she had once travelled through Romania all alone on horseback.

She told everyone who spoke to her that she went here and there and told them all she knew about these places from books.

Lady Varanda, the traveller; Lady Varanda, who could not sit still; Lady Varanda, who saw the world and wanted to see more. Lady Varanda who seemed to be able to do everything.

If someone proudly announced that they had created twenty seaweed scrapbooks, Varanda had completed fifty and they – as they were things of beauty, of course – had been showed in a gallery but not under her name. They had been displayed under her brother Wandow’s name instead.

If someone boasted that they had once shot five birds, which had been flying rather high, one after the other without a real pause between the shots, Varanda appeared at the people conversing in a circle, nonchalantly swirled her wine glass, and said that she had broken their record when she was a child who had learned to shoot in the secret of the night.

In no time, every guest was thoroughly annoyed by Cloudia – Varanda –, and she herself enjoyed every second of it. But after a while, she decided that she had had enough and went to the cloakroom to fetch a handbag.

 

 

_If there really was a Santa Claus, he would fill my entire manor with coal._

 

 

After finding a nice one, Cloudia took the contents out of the bag and went back to the main room and straight to the buffet. And every time, nobody looked, she put a muffin or a biscuit or anything else inside the bag, wondering when she would be caught and, most importantly, how much she could fit into this small bag.

Eventually, someone came to compliment her handbag, and Cloudia told them a highly ridiculous and, of course, overly fabricated story how she got it. And after a while, a woman approached her who frowned at the bag and said that she had the exact same one and that there shouldn’t be a second one in the world as it had been exclusively designed and created for her.

“Excuse my language, my dear, but I think that it has never been as appropriate and fitting to call someone a ‘bastard’ as in this very moment and situation,” Cloudia said to the woman who nodded at her words and walked away.

Then, Cloudia left the main room and wandered through the villa, the handbag half-filled.

 

 

_Why was nobody sleepy? Why wouldn’t this party end? And where was the host? And where Cedric?_

 

 

At least, one of her questions was answered when Cloudia somehow found her way to the kitchen and saw Cedric sticking his fingers into a cake which was clearly meant to be ceremonially presented.

“What the hell are you doing?” she said, struggling to keep her voice low.

Cedric turned around and smiled at the sight of her, half his face dirtied by cake. “Countess!”

Cloudia put the bag on a table before walking towards him. “How old are you? Three?”

“The cake is incredible! Here! Taste it!” he said, ignoring her and shoving a cake-covered finger into her mouth.

It had come too suddenly for her to be able to react and bite off his finger, and when her mind formed the thought of biting him, Cedric had already pulled his finger away again, and Cloudia slightly relaxed as the cake truly was delicious.

“Do that again and that will be the last thing you’ll do,” she said. “And I hope you washed your hands beforehand.”

Cedric nodded and continued eating. “Do you want some?”

“We should leave the kitchen as quickly as possible and find the bathroom,” she said. “How could you think that it’s a good idea to stick your fingers in a gigantic cake?”

“It’s strawberry.”

“ _Undertaker_.”

He licked the cream from his fingers. “I am sorry, Countess, but don’t tell me you didn’t cause any havoc.” Cedric raised an eyebrow in anticipation of her answer, and she sighed.

“I told people lies and annoyed them to no end.”

“And?”

“I half-filled a bag with food I took from the buffet until I got bored.”

“As a souvenir?”

“Of course, not. It was just for…”

“Havoc.”

“… finding something to do.”

“Did it help you make you less restless?”

 

 

_Did it?_

 

 

“Yes,” Cloudia said, smiling.

The sound of steps coming gradually closer alarmed Cloudia and made her drop her smile. She took Cedric’s hand, no matter if it was still covered in cake, and dragged him out another door.

“Run,” she hissed the moment a scream echoed through the kitchen and the nearby corridors.

 

 

As soon as they met the crowd again, they slowed down and exchanged curtsy smiles and nods, pretending as if one of them was _not_ partially covered with cake. And when the coast was clear, they took the stairs up to the host’s private chambers.

“I don’t think I will get the cake out of my clothes,” Cedric said in the master’s dressing room while Cloudia was already going through the wardrobe.

“You’re something between seventeen and two hundred years old. You should behave your age.”

“If you’re as old as I am, there isn’t a clear guideline how to behave anymore.”

“I am not one of those who believe that if you read enough books, you are ready to write one of your own – after all, not everyone who could learn to read will be able to learn how to write like the masters do –, but I would still try to write you a guideline if you ever were to tell me how old you are.” She threw a clean shirt and a pair of trousers at him, a waistcoat and a jacket. “Go change behind the folding screen.”

 

 

When Cedric returned from behind the screen, Cloudia chuckled.

“It’s not my fault if the master of this house seems to be giant!” he exclaimed, rolling up his far too long sleeves and pant legs.

“Did you even talk to anyone or were you only in the kitchen?” Cloudia asked when they stepped out of the dressing room.

“Yes, but only very briefly. Apparently, they can’t appreciate good humour.”

She raised an eyebrow at him while they descended the stairs, making sure nobody saw them. “Good humour? How do you define good humour?”

“Grim Reaper humour.”

“And what _is_ Grim Reaper humour?”

“It’s undead,” Cedric replied, and Cloudia kicked him down the last few steps.

Cedric stood up and said something but Cloudia couldn’t hear him as she caught a conversation from the next room.

“What? Your handbag was stolen by a woman called Lady Varanda and you found it in the kitchen filled with _muffins_?”

Cloudia grabbed Cedric’s arm. “We need to _leave_.”

“But what about our challenge? None of us was thrown out until now.”

“You are searching for someone who could have damaged Lady Colfield’s birthday cake? If my memory doesn’t trick me I’ve seen a man covered in cake cream earlier – he wore glasses and had silvery grey hair,” they heard a voice from the opposite direction.

“Forget our challenge. We have to leave _now_ ,” Cedric said and wanted to go downstairs but Cloudia stopped him.

“We can’t go downstairs,” she told him, pulling him into a dark corner. Just a moment later, the woman, whose handbag she had taken and who now looked miserable while holding the maltreated bag, and another woman left the room and headed downstairs. “They are searching for a Lady Varanda – which is me – and they went down and practically everyone has seen and talked to me down there. We have to find another way to get out of here.”

“Varanda?”

“Don’t ask me.”

Cautiously, they left their safe corner and went into the now empty room. Cedric closed the door behind them while Cloudia walked around, taking everything in.

“If we were in Phantomhive Manor, we could have taken one of the many secret corridors, but here, I guess, we have to escape the old-fashioned way,” she said and went to the windows.

“I still can’t fly,” he reminded her, and she rolled her eyes at him before tearing down the curtains.

“Uh, Countess,” Cedric said while Cloudia knotted the curtains into a makeshift rope.

“Countess,” he repeated when she fixated the rope to a cupboard and threw the loose end out of the window.

“Countess,” he said again when she made sure that everything held.

“Countess,” said Cedric for the fourth time when Cloudia was finished.

“Yes?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten that while I can’t fly _that I can certainly teleport_.”

“Of course, I haven’t. You are still speaking to Countess Cloudia Phantomhive,” she replied. “But they need a story for how we escaped – and I’ve just provided them one.”

Someone opened the door, and Cedric quickly took hold of Cloudia’s arm, and she braced herself – but then, he only dragged her into a box room, locking the door when they had entered.

“Now, who is the one who has forgotten that you can teleport?”

“I was panicking and…” Cedric trailed off when something hanging above them caught his attention.

“Oh,” he said, and Cloudia followed his gaze to see…

“Hell, who hangs a mistletoe in a box room?!” She sighed and leaned back. “Did you know that this mistletoe nonsense started in the last century? And that the mistletoes were are using are female ones? You can differentiate male from female ones quite easily: Female mistletoes have berries. Mistletoes are parasitic plants – I can’t understand why anyone would ever find something romantic about them.”

“The goddess of love, Frigg,” Cedric said, his voice low, sadness hurrying over his eyes for a split second. “She had a son named Baldr whom she loved more than anything in the world. That’s why – of course, that’s why, she was his mother and that’s what mothers wished – she wanted for him to never be harmed and went to ask every element, went to ask everything which came from the elements, to promise her to never hurt her beloved Baldr. And they vowed to her that they wouldn’t. But someone else found out mistletoes weren’t bound by this promise – and so they made an arrow of a mistletoe and drove it through Baldr’s heart.

“Frigg was devastated and cried – and her tears turned into the mistletoe’s berries. And then, Baldr was revived, and in her happiness, Frigg named mistletoes a symbol of love and friendship, of promises and kisses.”

“That’s not how the story went,” she murmured.

“But we can’t ignore a century-old tradition and a goddess’ will,” whispered Cedric and his eyes still shone even though there was barely any light in the box room.

 

 

_This was ridiculous – but then, everything which had happened today had been ridiculous._

_And wasn’t I Cloudia Phantomhive, Watchdog and Countess, Mistress and Detective? I had mastered things far more difficult than an unimportant tradition._

_But still…_

 

 

Cloudia took his collar and pulled him down to kiss his forehead.

“I hope this is satisfying,” she said when she pulled away again – Cedric not exactly staring at her but looking at her in disbelief and something else she couldn’t make out.

“I think we should go now,” Cloudia whispered, taking a deep breath. He nodded and put his arms around her waist, but he didn’t teleport just now. Instead, he rested his forehead against hers.

“Merry Christmas, Cloudia Phantomhive,” he said so faintly.

“Merry Christmas, Cedric K. Rossdale,” she replied just as faintly, just as silently. And they shared one last look before they were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I wasn't able to check it again, I have no idea how coherent everything is. I hope that it was still (somewhat) readable.


	26. Christmas Special: Three Times Christmas (Part 3) - Cakes and Comfort

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
> _To my sister._  
> 
> 
> * * *
> 
> I CAN'T BELIEVE THAT I HAVE MANAGED TO DO THIS.
> 
> At first, I didn't want to do any Christmas specials, or just one. Then, I had decided LAST TUESDAY to do it. I wrote stuff for it. Then, I had to do other things. Then, I had to finish the chapters on the day they should be uploaded.
> 
> AND I'VE NEVER BEEN LATE. YEY.
> 
> I have been late in the past when it came to special chapters - or regular chapters. BUT NOT THIS TIME.
> 
> Anyway, hope you'll enjoy reading this chapter^^

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – December 1866**

 

It took Vincent Phantomhive two days, five hours, and forty-seven minutes to find it, not including the time he had spent and lost eating and sleeping.

But it had all been worth the effort.

 

 

_My mother had been very fond of baking, especially of baking cakes. She hadn’t done it very often due to her busy schedule, but she had always baked for special occasions: birthdays, Eastern, Christmas._

_And now… And now, she was gone._

_A bit more than five months had passed since Francis and I had lost our parents. The wound was still fresh and, today, on Christmas Eve, it burned particularly badly again._

_Francis and I had decided not to do anything for Christmas this year as we were still in mourning and it would only seem and feel odd. Still, Tanaka had taken us to Manchester for a few days as Mother used to take us somewhere the week before Christmas. And when we had returned, just like when our parents were still alive, Francis and I were greeted by Father’s winter wonderland which the servants had managed to recreate in eerie detail: The manor had been drowned in white, in self-made paper stars in various shapes and sizes, in crystal figurines, in false snow and baubles in white and blue._

_And apart from our parents, of course, all that was left now was Mother’s Christmas cake._

_But Mother had never allowed anyone into the kitchen while she had baked – not even Father. She had never told anyone her recipes, but we knew that she had collected all of them in a book – in a book whose location was unknown to us._

_When we had been younger, Francis and I had often searched for it but had never been able to find it. Eventually, we had given up on it, but now, after spending over two days on my search, I had been able to accomplish the impossible and found Mother’s recipe book._

 

 

“ _Recipes Which Can Bring You Back from the Dead_ ,” Vincent read the recipe book’s title aloud, slightly shuddering at the macabre title, while he headed to the kitchen.

 

 

_The day after we had returned from Manchester, Francis had fallen ill. She had caught a terrible cold which didn’t want to get better. Annoyed and miserable, she had to stay in bed for the last days. And to lift her mood, I had decided to search for Mother’s book and bake our annual Christmas cake all by myself._

_I had watched the cook and Tanaka baking; I was the Watchdog and had already been on a mission – even if it had been neither official or truly successful._

_Baking couldn’t be all too difficult._

 

 

“Tanaka!” Vincent called when he arrived in the kitchen. “I have been triumphant!”

Tanaka looked up from the Christmas Pudding he had been preparing. “You found it, Young Master?” he asked, and Vincent waved with the book – a leather-bound thing touched by age and from which little papers were sticking out.

“I did! It was in a secret compartment in the vitrine where Mother put her signed copy of _Oliver Twist_. I found it by accident when I stumbled against it in exhaustion. Fortunately, the vitrine didn’t break. It’s incredibly stable for being made of wood and glass.”

Vincent put the book on a table and went through it. Tanaka finished the pudding and came to stand by his side and watch him.

“Ah! I think I found the cake Mother used to bake for Christmas. It’s called…” he announced after a while before he cut himself off and frowned.

“‘Dahlia Duke’s Chocolate Cake?’ I’ve never heard of a Dahlia Duke. Did you, Tanaka?”

Tanaka shook his head. “As far as I know, the Mistress didn’t know a Miss Dahlia Duke. Or, at least, she never visited or invited one.”

“Then, why did Mother name a cake after her? Dedicate one to her?”

“Perhaps, it’s not someone Lady Cloudia knew herself,” Tanaka replied. “She could have copied the recipe from somewhere else or someone might have given it to her.”

“But wouldn’t that mean that Mother knew someone who knew a Dahlia Duke?”

“It might also be simply the cake’s name. Or the name of its baker.”

“A female baker? There are so few, I think, if she had a shop in London, we would know.” Vincent stared at the recipe which had not even been written down on one of the book’s blank pages. Instead, it was just a loose piece of paper which had been tucked between two pages. And then, there was something else which was odd about it…

“It was not even written by Mother!” he exclaimed. “That’s not her handwriting. This one is still clear, elegant, and seems to belong to a woman, but it’s not Mother’s.”

“That is indeed a peculiar case, Young Master,” Tanaka agreed.

“And one we will investigate just when the holidays are over,” decided Vincent.

 

 

_Of course, I had known my parents and known that they had loved me, but it was usual in the upper class that parents kept a certain distance from their children – and, of course, so had ours. This distance had resulted in them becoming puzzles from which a few pieces had fallen from the table and simply vanished as some things sometimes did._

_And my body was filled with excitement at the prospect of, perhaps, being able to find one of those missing pieces._

 

 

“Will you need help for it?” Tanaka wanted to know, and Vincent looked up from the book. “Help for the cake or the investigation?”

Tanaka smiled. “For both.”

He returned the smile. “Yes for the investigation, no for the cake. If my mother could bake and my father could make disturbingly detailed and complex paper stars, I should also possess, at least, a little bit of talent for handicrafts – especially if my sister inherited such a talent as she’s a brilliant fencer.”

“I am not sure if you can count fencing as a handicraft, Young Master.”

“You do it with your hands, you need precision, you get dirty – I think fencing can be counted as a handicraft.”

Tanaka bowed his head. “Nevertheless, I will make you a few pots of tea to enjoy while you are baking.”

Vincent smiled. “Thanks, Tanaka. And I promise you, I won’t destroy the kitchen.”

 

 

***

 

 

After Vincent had collected the ingredients he needed, he went through the recipe book again.

The first few pages had clearly been written when his mother Cloudia had still been young, and with every page, the clumsy handwriting evolved more and more into the elegant cursive Vincent was used to. There were recipes for every kind of confection – muffins, biscuits, tarts, pies, puddings – but most of them were for cakes. Many formulae had been countlessly erased, corrected, rewritten like the one for a chocolate charlotte russe with pears and currants. And in-between the pages, little additional notes or abbreviations of the recipe, photographs of the finished product, and napkins from restaurants and cafés had been put. Sometimes, there were even papers in Cloudia’s cursive, detailing recipes, lettered when she, most likely, wasn’t able to write directly into her book.

Of course, Cloudia had shown him and Francis warmth and love, but she had often seemed sad or deep-in-thought, and she had always been more aloof than their father. Reading her private recipe book filled Vincent with warmth as he imagined his mother smiling, content, and happy while filling the pages, but when he came closer to the book’s end and thumbed through empty pages, the warmth was replaced with biting sadness.

He wanted to return to the Christmas cake formula when he noticed that the book’s very last page was lettered again. However, it seemed to have been ripped out and rumpled once as if his mother had intended to throw it away and forget it forever.

Vincent read the title and his eyes widened. And with confusion and excitement oddly mixing inside his belly, he began to work.

 

 

***

 

 

Francis’ eyes widened when Vincent showed her the recipe book the next day when they sat beneath their Christmas tree, surrounded by still unopened presents. She, healthy enough to leave her bed again, asked him question after question about how he had found it and how long it had taken and where it had been. And, an hour later when their presents were opened and everyone thanked and they sat at the table to eat, Francis’ laughter, infused with coughs, echoed through the manor when she saw her brother’s clumsily made chocolate cake.

“It was my first try,” Vincent mumbled while Francis chuckled and Tanaka cut the cake.

“At least, it’s not burned, just disfigured and _far_ too sweet. Do you want to give everyone cavities?” Francis said after finishing her piece. Then, her gaze was caught by something else. “Did you bake them as well?” she asked while she reached out for one of the biscuits.

Vincent nodded. “The recipe was in Mother’s book too, and I wanted to try them out.”

His sister sceptically eyed the biscuit in her hand. “I have never seen Mother make biscuits before.”

“Me neither. We don’t even have biscuit cutters – that’s why I had to shape them into circles myself.”

“Circles, you say? I hope you mean awkward heptagons.” Francis took a bite and grimaced. “Tanaka, don’t eat one – it’s too sweet again!”

 

 

_Francis kept on criticising my cake and biscuits but did not stop eating them – either because I had baked them after Mother’s recipes or because I had baked them for her or both. I smiled while she happily talked and talked, nibbling on biscuits myself._

_And although right now, I was smiling and feeling happy and well, I could not stop thinking about the ripped-out page I had discovered at the end of Mother’s book._

_Mother had always told us that “there was nothing supernatural in the world.” But she had also given Francis a necklace which couldn’t be anything else_ but _supernatural._

_And now, I had found a recipe which had been undoubtedly written by her and which had the title “Cedric’s Special House-made Biscuits for Humans and Reapers” – in a book titled “Recipes Which Can Bring You Back from the Dead.”_

_And I began to doubt that I had known my mother, had known Cloudia Phantomhive, at all._

_Who had she been; what had been going on?_

_And was it still happening?_

_But, for now, I pushed this discovery away and focused on Christmas – on Francis, on Tanaka, and on the other servants. This was a question for later – whenever “later” was. Whenever I was ready to find the missing puzzle pieces – if I ever was._


	27. The Countess, Cornered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M STILL ALIVE.
> 
> Hi, long time not read.
> 
> I think I should rename WotQ to "Executive Meddling." It's a better title.
> 
> Anyway, it took a long while to get this chapter done because of lack of time (exams and university) and because I had to restructure the chapter - and split it because the plot wouldn't quite work otherwise.
> 
> Whatever.
> 
> The chapter is not the best or the longest, but it's something, and I still hope that you will enjoy it. :)

_“_ _Tangled is the path…”_

* * *

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – May 1845**

 

**~August~**

 

_“Do not worry, August. Cloudia is a very sweet person,” Cathleen had told me the last time we had seen each other. And even though she had said this while smiling her warm, calming smile, I could not help myself but feel nervous._

_Next month, I would be marrying Cathleen, and because of that, I wanted to get to know her extended family better. Even before our engagement, I had met her uncles and aunts and cousins, but that had only been brief encounters. I wished to get to know them just as well as Cathleen’s parents and sister. I had already spent time with all of them but one, and today, I would finally meet that cousin of Cathy’s which I had never seen before, which I only knew from her stories – and the stories of others._

_Cloudia Phantomhive – the girl who rarely attended any social events or engaged with other nobles. The girl whose mother had once been a celebrated actress and opera singer, but now, she never left her chambers; whose fiancé, the current Earl of Phantomhive, was a mystery man, an enigma, and always present in conversations even if he was not there physically. I had asked Cathy if it was possible for me to meet Penelope Phantomhive or the Earl as well, but she had only shaken her head, apologised for it, and hoped that it did not disappoint or even anger me. It didn’t; of course, it didn’t. But while I couldn’t meet them, I could still meet Cloudia – and today, I would._

_Cathleen had assured me that her cousin was very nice and kind albeit stubborn and harsh at times, that I did not have to be afraid to meet her: She was just another fifteen-year-old girl after all. No matter what the whispers said._

 

 

“She is just another fifteen-year-old girl,” August mumbled while he waited in Phantomhive Manor’s drawing room for Cloudia to arrive. A few minutes later, her butler – a fair-haired giant of a man – opened the door to the parlour, and Cloudia stepped inside. August stood up and mustered her – her facial expression, her posture, her clothing. And while she seemed just like Cathleen had told him, a fifteen-year-old girl like any other, there was something subtle in her movement and smile and eyes which did not quite fit into the picture.

 

 

_But it was nothing unpleasant. I had never listened to the whispers surrounding the Phantomhives; I had never found a reason to do so. I did not know what other people had to say about them – and, honestly, I did not care. I had always walked away, never listened. And this would not change in the foreseeable future or ever at all._

_What I knew, however, was that the whispers were not pleasant, just like it was their nature. Cruel things were associated with the Phantomhives, but Cloudia only seemed as different as any other young girl. And this, in all honesty, took away some of my anxiety and made me breathe with much more ease._

 

 

Cloudia approached August and said, “Welcome, Mylord. I am terribly sorry for my tardiness. Something came up which had to be handled straightaway and stole a few minutes of my time.”

August took her hand and bowed. “No need to apologise,” he replied and straightened up again. “And please just call me ‘August.’ We surely have no need for formalities.”

“Because we are going to be family soon?” said Cloudia and gestured for August to sit down while she took place opposite of him.

August nodded and watched the butler refilling his cup and filling Cloudia’s from the corner of his eye. This man was a giant – tall and broad – and did not look like a butler at all, but he did his job without any complain and without erring, and August wondered where Cloudia had found such a butler and what had made her employ him.

“How were the meetings with my cousins? My aunts and uncles?” Cloudia wanted to know, smiling at the butler when he was finished and went to stand by a wall.

“I know how they perceived these meetings – especially Constantia did not want to stop talking about it. But I am really curious what _you_ thought of them. And don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone about this conversation, so you can be completely honest.”

August chuckled. “I genuinely think that every single one of those meetings was delightful, and I firmly believe that this one will be no different. However,” he started, absentmindedly taking a scone and splitting it into halves, “I could not think of any activity we could do. Miss Cathleen told me many things about your cousins and uncles and aunts beforehand so that I was able to plan my visits thoroughly beforehand. And while she, of course, told me about you as well, all she said was that you enjoyed reading and that I must not be afraid of you or nervous because of you – no matter what I might have heard of you before.”

Cloudia smiled at him from beyond the rim of the cup which was raised to her lips. “And what did you hear about me?”

“Barely anything, to be honest.”

“I see,” she replied. “But isn’t it refreshing and exciting to dive into something without knowing anything about it beforehand? To get to know someone with having heard next to nothing about them before? Not knowing anything or knowing only little prevents you to give yourself to expectations too high, too unfulfillable and to be disappointed afterwards. What do you prefer: to be prepared or to be caught by surprises?” Cloudia set the cup down, and August laughed. “Anyway, to return to your worry that our meeting may become too bland if we spend it in all its entirety in my parlour: Can I make a proposition?”

“Of course, Cloudia.”

“Then, I propose to go hunting,” Cloudia said playfully, and August blinked at her. “Pardon?”

“Hunting,” she repeated with a glow in her eyes. “You went hunting with Keegan and Ceara, didn’t you? Keegan may be a talented hunter but he finds no joy in it. I, however… Well, I have never gone hunting before so I do not know if it suits me at all or not. Barrington – I guess Cathleen has told you about Sir Barrington too? – is not very fond of the idea of me learning how to use firearms even if he once promised me to teach me. And despite my best efforts to defy him, I have never managed to find a way to learn it on my own.

“The request may seem odd,” she continued, making a short pause, “but if it doesn’t seem odd enough to you, is there a possibility for you to consider it?”

 

 

_Her proposition had come completely unexpected. Of course, ladies often accompanied hunting parties, but it did not happen very often that a lady actively joined one, but it was not unheard of either. I didn’t have any reason to decline her suggestion and I was more than happy and willing to take her hunting._

 

 

“Of course, we can go hunting,” August said, amused. “But, unfortunately, we have to go without the usual: hounds, any kind of activity associated with hunts, etc. I hope you do not mind.”

“Oh, I don’t mind at all,” replied Cloudia. “I think it will be more fun like this anyway.”

“I hope I am not too terrible a teacher.”

“Don’t worry,” she said and her smile reminded him of Cathleen’s: warm and beautiful and making you feel as if everything would be all right – as if everything _was_ all right. “I have the feeling that you will be a wonderful teacher.”

 

 

***

 

 

**Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

“Oy, girl, could you stop staring at me and be useful for a change and _free me_?” the man, Franklin, said, shaking Cloudia out of her thoughts.

“You couldn’t be any ruder, could you?” Cloudia replied, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Girl, just–”

“Cloudia.”

He frowned. “Please, what?”

She rubbed the bridge of her nose. “My name is Cloudia with an ‘o’ and a ‘u’ instead of an ‘a’ and a ‘u.’ I don’t like to be called just ‘girl’ as if I didn’t have a name.”

“We are in the middle of a deadly labyrinth, and you are making a fuss _about how you are called_?”

“Everyone has their priorities – also, didn’t you make a lengthy statement about your name a few minutes ago, _Franklin_?”

“That’s different. After all, what kind of name _is_ ‘Franklin’ even?” he replied, annoyance dripping from his voice. “It’s such a terrible name. It does not sound pleasant _at all_. It sounds like you are belittling a Frank for his entire life. ‘Oh, little Franklin, come here!’” he exclaimed, disguising his voice so that it was shriller for a moment. “Is ‘Little Franklin’ a double belittlement, then? Do people really hate their children so much that they call them ‘Franklin’ of all names? It’s a _horrible_ name. _Nobody_ should be given such a name. Everyone who wants to call their children ‘Franklin’ should be punished. If my parents weren’t dead, I would still…”

 

 

_I wished that I would know whoever Phantomhive was the first to become the Crown’s Watchdog so that I knew to whom I had to direct my curses._

 

 

“I understand that you hate your second name,” Cloudia interrupted him, not being able to listen to him anymore. “But how should I call you then? What is your first name? Do you like, at least, that one?”

“Why did they have to call me ‘Franklin’ all the time?” he continued. “That’s not even my first name. It’s only my second. Why did they always have to rub it in that I have such a dreadful second name? Did they…”

Cloudia snapped her fingers against his forehead. “What did you say about making a fuss about how you want to be called? If you don’t stop this nonsense right now and tell me your first name or how you want to be called instead, I will make sure that the name ‘Franklin’ will be branded into your flesh and everyone and their crickets will call you by that name until you get into one of those highly unpleasant asylums, do you understand? Of course, considering that I don’t decide to leave you here, bound and vulnerable, to die because I can’t stand listening to your whiny nonsense anymore.

“The last two weeks were already terrible for me, but today is the tip of the iceberg: I was kidnapped by an idiot playing witch or puppeteer or whatever and forcing me to be the prey in a silly hunt. I am sleep-deprived. I have barely eaten anything today or in the last weeks. I left four more idiots at my home which they are most likely wrecking right now because two of them always start a fight when you sit them in one and the same room. The third is an ex-convict, and the fourth is just an idiot. And the worst? They are perhaps the closest I have to friends. I am telling you: I am _not_ going to spend the rest of this goddamn day listening to you being a hypocrite and then die at the hands of that moron Manon von Brandt.”

He stared at her for a while, bewildered, before he slowly said, “My name is _Leon_ Melville.”

Cloudia rubbed her temples. Leon’s ramblings had only fuelled her already excruciating headache. “Melville like Herman Melville, the author of _Typee: A Peep at Polynesian Life_?”

Leon nodded. “Exactly like Herman Melville.”

“Before or after the ‘e’ was added?”

“After.”

“Good. And please remember that if you start talking about how much your second name again, I will break your arms and legs and leave you to be eaten by whichever creatures are lurking in his maze,” she said and went to kneel down behind him to unfasten the ropes.

 

 

_It would take less time if I still had the dagger. I hoped that I would have it back when it was time for me to cut out the Witch’s eyes._

 

 

When Cloudia was done, she stood up, and so did Leon after stretching his limps. “ _Finally_ ,” he exclaimed, moving his arms in circles.

“How long were you tied up?” she asked him.

“Since this morning,” Leon told her, rubbing his wrists. “Those devils attacked me in my sleep, tied me up – don’t ask me where they got the rope from –, and pushed me out into the labyrinth. I wandered around for hours, trying to find some kind of exit, but I only got tired and sat down, ready to die alone but not without cursing every single one of those demonic bastards. Then, you came.”

“What did you do that made them banish you? Let me guess: You packed out your ‘Franklin’ speech?”

Leon glared at her. “I didn’t do anything! Those people are crazy bastards! They were imprisoned by a madwoman, and they have become madwomen and -men as well. That creepy man, who always sits in a corner and smiles, even ate Ernest, Claude, and Vanessa! I am not exactly sure if I was lucky that they didn’t sacrifice me to _him_. What do you think is worse? Being eaten, most likely while you are still alive, or being killed or turning crazy by or because of whatever is running around in this labyrinth? Dying during one of those hunts?”

Pain crept up on her again when Cloudia wanted to answer and she had to hold her head and massage her temples for a moment.

 

 

_Breathe in, breathe out, everything would be all right._

 

 

“I think that dying inside the maze is better than being eaten alive,” Cloudia said when the pain was gone again for the moment. “If you are held down and eaten, there is nothing you can do – you can only lie down and wait for it to end. But if the eating process will take too long, you will lose your mind before you lose your life. But if you are running around in a labyrinth filled with _things_ , if you are part of a hunt, are a hunter’s prey, you can still hold on to your sanity because, even if it’s small, there _is_ a chance for survival. Just like rabbits can sometimes outwit and outrun the fox, you can escape the hunter’s claws – or, if you know how, you could even turn the tables.”

“Aren’t you a grim lady?” Leon said, grinning – and while Cedric’s grins were always wide and playful, Barrington’s laced with something heavy, Cecelia’s sly and knowing, and Oscar’s cut out of nightmares, Leon’s grin was crooked and his eyes lit up. “Also, I really want to be there to see you trying to outrun the fox, Cloudia.”

“Oh, no,” she replied, grinning herself and wondering how it looked like. “I am not intending to run away – I am here to turn the tables.

“And now, Leon, what do you know about these hunts?”

 

 

***

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

Cedric’s eyes were still fixed on the frozen clock’s hands, the bureau still filled by the eerie echo of Oscar’s words. _“Finally, today’s game time starts.”_

And then, this suffocating tension was shattered when Cecelia clapped her hands together.

“Game time!” she exclaimed with a smile on her lips, the clapping and her voice reanimating the room. “Slightly better than story time, but not as good as murder time. Nothing beats murder time.”

Cedric was finally able to tear his gaze away from the dead clock and, now, he stared from Oscar to Barrington, Cecelia, and Thomas before looking back at Oscar and starting the circle again. The thoughts in Cedric’s head were spinning frantically – and with every spin, compatible parts clicked together.

 

 

_Every time, I had tried to leave the room, I had been held back._

_By Barrington’s excessive storytelling._

_More blatantly, by Cecelia’s hand._

_The almost duel._

_Barrington’s willingness to tell me so much about Cloudia and her family._

_Cecelia and Barrington’s constant nagging._

_Oscar’s unsettling words – “Finally, today’s game time starts.”_

His smile _._

_The looks on their faces which were so different from the one which rested on Thomas’._

 

 

“What have you _done_?” Cedric said, his voice at once angry and worried, shaky and tense.

Cecelia smiled sweetly at Thomas. “Mr Holmwood, would you be so kind to leave us alone again?”

“But Lady…” he began, but she cut him off with a wave.

“I told you to leave and not to talk back to me, Mr Holmwood,” Cecelia said. Her words echoed through the bureau, loud and powerful, even though she hadn’t raised it.

Thomas cast one last worried, puzzled glance at Cedric before leaving the Aristocrats’ Bureau, the door falling behind him into its lock.

“What have you done?” repeated Cedric, the worry slowly leaving his body and offering the space it occupied to burning anger.

“We heard you the first time,” Cecelia said, looking bored. “Not-Kristopher, I am rather disappointed that you didn’t suspect anything before Mr Holmwood burst through the door – which thing, that certainly does not involve any thinking, can you do that would be beneficial to the Watchdog?”

“I don’t care about any of your petty games. _Where is the Countess?_ ”

“A game is everything but petty if you are tangled in it and lives are at stake,” said Oscar and stepped in front of Cedric, looking down at him with these scarily opaque eyes of his. Something dark and twisted seemed to lie in them, something which, before you could catch it, could define it, was replaced again by indistinctiveness in a fracture of a second.

 

 

_And I did not know why, but there was something unsettlingly familiar about them._

 

 

Under any other circumstances, Cedric might have struggled to hold Oscar’s gaze, but now with anger and worry running through his veins and mixing together, it was – _almost_ – as simple as holding anyone’s gaze.

“A test,” Oscar continued, subtle amusement woven into his cold voice. “A game is often a test, and tests may often be seen as games. And in life, you are irregularly faced with both – and while, to me, this test is nothing but a game, to you, this game is nothing but a test. But, in the end, none of this is of importance as both tests and games are not desired to be lost and failed.”

Oscar eyed Cedric, let his eerie eyes wander over him – and Cedric wondered what he might think when he saw him, what he might _see_ when he looked at him.

“And both have rules and purposes – just like this game or test, however you may want to call it.”

“And what _are_ the rules? What _is_ the purpose of this? What is the purpose of keeping me in this room? _In endangering the Countess?_ In endangering her for the sake of some sick, twisted game?” replied Cedric, putting every bit of his strength into his words and voice.

Oscar’s wide smile made Cedric shiver, flinch even by the instinct to distance yourself from apparent danger.

“Just the same purpose as always: results.”

 

 

***

 

 

**Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

“Not much,” Leon answered, shrugging, and they continued walking through the labyrinth.

“The Witch doesn’t participate in the hunts herself,” he told her. “But I guess that’s obvious. She lets the two idiots, the gardener and the butler, hunt instead. However, they won’t kill anyone: They are supposed to hunt down the prey and bring it alive to the Witch so that she can slit their throat or something like that and feel all mighty while doing so.”

“And how do you know all this?” Cloudia wanted to know, raising an eyebrow.

“I sound really suspicious now, don’t I?” he said, looking absentmindedly into the distance and clenching his fists. “Don’t worry, I only know this because this is not the first hunt the Witch conducted during my stay here. And you have no idea how much I wish that I didn’t have to live with this knowledge and experience.

“There were two hunts; every time, she sent one of us into the maze and let them be hunted by her servants. The first one was Charles, a child, perhaps twelve or thirteen years old. He was a little bit chubby and practically emitted innocence. Very kind, very hopeful and always optimistic. Stephen – another prisoner if you haven’t heard of him before – and Charles were very close; he was devastated when Charles was murdered in front of our eyes. He didn’t say anything and barely ate the days after his death. If you ask me, the effect Charles’ death had on him was part of the reason why he followed Agnes into the maze after she ran blindly into it.

“The second was Sonya, never did much, never said much – it worsened after Isaac’s. I think she was his sister – Isaac hurried after Stephen, trying to get him back to the dungeon, but he died in the labyrinth just like the other two.

“Anyway, after Charles and Sonya were collected by the Witch’s servants, they were brought to the Witch to be executed. We others were forced to watch.” Leon looked around. “You mentioned being the latest prey? When those morons sent me into the labyrinth, I thought ‘at least, the Witch won’t kill me.’ A very small part of me was content with the thought of being ripped apart by whatever is lurking in this maze. But now, I can only hope that I will have the time to spit in the Witch’s face before she can kill me.”

“There is something I’ve always wondered about,” Cloudia began to say. “You all know that your abductor’s name is Manon von Brandt, and still you keep calling her the ‘Witch.’ But why? Is there another reason for it instead of just because she is, at least, a little bit evil?”

“We call her that because of Ava as she…” Leon suddenly stopped and pricked his ears. “Did you hear that?” he whispered, alarmed, and Cloudia concentrated on the sounds around them, but…

 

 

_…but there was nothing to hear. No screams, no footsteps – there was nothing to hear but the sound of our own voices._

 

 

Cloudia walked back and forth while Leon observed her, wide-eyed and anxious. She jumped up and down, but neither the walking nor the jumps produced any sounds as if the ground completely swallowed even the lowest of noises. A shiver ran through her body.

“Leon,” Cloudia started, but before she could come any further, all of a sudden, Leon let out a scream, his eyes still wide, but now, not only anxiety was reflected in it but horror and fear as well while he stared to his right – his eyes fixed on something which was not there.

“Leon?” Cloudia said, carefully taking a step forward, her arms outstretched and her body and mind alarmed.

And then, Leon started to shake and made one clumsy step backwards, nearly tumbling back while his gaze was still fixed to his right, but he caught himself in time, tore his gaze away, turned around in one fast movement and started to run – right into Cloudia. They collided, but Cloudia managed not to let him and herself fall down.

Leon stumbled back from Cloudia and tried to circle her and hurry down the path behind her, but while he tried to go past her, she quickly turned to him and grabbed his arm before yanking him towards her and taking hold of both his arms before Leon had the time to try escaping again.

“What is wrong?” she demanded to know, burying her fingers into his arms to keep her hold on him and in an attempt to turn his focus to her – and attempt which was in vain as Leon kept on staring behind her.

“There is nothing here. Stay calm and tell me what is wrong,” Cloudia said. She was gradually losing her grip on him and the suddenness of her own movements had increased her headache.

“You and I are the only ones here. There’s nobody and nothing else in his passageway. So, look at me, shift your focus to me, and tell me what is wrong.”

Leon blinked one last time at the space behind her before locking his gaze with hers and saying, “It’s the monsters” – and breaking away.

Immediately, Cloudia moved to grab him again, but the ache in her temples blurred her vision, bringing her to a halt and allowing Leon to grasp her, whirl her around, and hurl her to the ground. When Cloudia had managed to struggle back to her feet, Leon was long gone and her headache significantly worse than before.

“Goddammit, Leon,” she mumbled and broke into a run.

 

 

***

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cedric~**

 

There were only two words floating inside his head when Cedric ran through the manor and towards the stables. Two words which were connected in the most twisted way he could imagine: _Insane_ for this entire situation; _Cloudia_ for keeping him going.

 

 

 _All of this – their insistence for Cloudia to go and for me to stay –, all of this for nothing but… not a game, not a test, but for_ Oscar’s amusement _._

_And they had all played along. Cecelia who claimed that Cloudia was her friend – her_ only _friend, her_ precious _friend. Barrington who had known Cloudia’s father, who had been her father’s best friend, who had looked after Cloudia for years and would look after her for many years to come._

_Barrington, who had averted his gaze, when I tried to look at him before I stormed out of the bureau._

_They knew how troubled Cloudia was right now; they had told me about it while knowing very well that somewhere out there – wherever it was – she was in grave danger. They claimed to care for her, they claimed to like her – and still, they had allowed her to be used in Oscar’s play. Still, they had betrayed her without remorse._

 

 

The sound of Cedric’s boots echoed through the manor while he hurried through the corridors and ran down the stairs to get outside.

 

 

_Let Cloudia be fine._

_Let her fire them all afterwards._

 

 

Cedric burst through the closest door outside – and momentarily stopped when he saw how close it was to sunset, and then, he ran again and rounded the manor. Thomas looked up from grooming and calming Cloudia’s horse, Falada, when Cedric approached him.

“Do you know what is going on, Kris?” Thomas asked, his eyes wide with worry and question.

“Not exactly,” Cedric replied, struggling to keep his voice even and leaning against the stable wall. “All I know is that it’s Oscar’s doing. The others were his accomplices.” He took a deep breath, trying to fight the anger inside of him. He wanted to destroy something, wanted to scream, wanted his anger to take over him – but it would not help. It would fix nothing. It would only waste time he didn’t have.

“All this – all this only happened, only _happens_ , for Oscar’s amusement,” Cedric continued, pushing himself off the wall.

“I have always hated Livingstone,” said Thomas, his voice and gaze dark. Cedric had never heard his voice so full of venom, his gaze so shadowed in all the time he had known him. Thomas was usually quite cheerful, a bit of an airhead, and talking a little bit too often about horses whenever Cloudia was too busy for Cedric and Thomas offered to take him to town while posing as his footman. Thomas was the kind of person who expressed his dislike towards something or someone rather playfully – but it was only ever dislike and never hate. Now, however, it was clearly the latter.

“Sir Barrington was never happy with Lady making Oscar one of her Aristocrats,” Thomas told Cedric. “He tried to talk her out of this, but she wouldn’t listen. I tried the same, but she only dismissed me. Livingstone may be competent, but there’s also something seriously _wrong_ with him.” His voice lowered but was still full of fire. “There are whispers in St Lacey, you have to know, whispers that the Phantomhives attract the oddest people. Lady attracted Livingstone, and if you listen closely to the whispers in the dark, you hear about…”

Thomas shook his head to cut himself off and perhaps to clear his mind as well. “That can wait. Lady can’t.” He looked at Cedric. “But what can we do?” He ran a hand through his hair. “Lady could be _anywhere_. The forest is huge, and we don’t even know if she is still inside it. Falada might be able to lead us back to the place where they were separated, but…”

 

 

_“Which thing, that certainly does not involve any thinking, can you do that would be beneficial to the Watchdog?”_

 

 

Upon remembering Cecelia’s words, Cedric instinctively put a hand on the place above his heart, the place where the skull pendant was hidden beneath his clothes and hummed softly against his chest.

“Thomas, do you know what I can do?” he asked, electricity filling his veins and determination his mind.

Thomas blinked at him, confused.

Cedric patted Falada and, in his head, he counted from ten downwards before mounting the horse. “Every Aristocrat was chosen because they can be of help for the Watchdog,” he started, turning Falada around. “Cecelia and Oscar can gather information and look through people – and I? I can find the Countess.”

 

 

***

 

 

**Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

_The pain tried to pull me down into blackness like it had so often in the past. It pulled on my energy, my sanity, but I had to keep on going. I had to; I wanted to._

 

_Why had Leon tried to get away?_

_He had said that he saw a monster, but there had been nothing. There had been nothing behind me. In all the time I had been in the labyrinth, I hadn’t seen_ any _monsters. Everyone kept saying that there was_ something _wandering these paths, but the only thing I had encountered in his maze so far was Leon._

_Even now as I was running through the maze in search of him, I didn’t cross paths with any creature._

 

 

Not being able to go any farther, Cloudia came to a halt and slid to the ground.

 

 

_I was so, so tired, but I had to concentrate. There was something wrong with this maze. Something terribly, terribly wrong._

 

 

She tucked up her legs and held her head, counting from ten downwards while keeping her breath steady.

 

 

Ten.

_The walls were too perfect, too flawless._

Nine.

_There was no way to tell any path apart from another._

Eight.

_The ground swallowed every kind of noise._

Seven.

_Perhaps, the walls did it as well._

Six.

 _No, they_ had _to do it too._

Five.

_After all, the purpose was to make sure that nobody knew whether or not something dangerous was close._

Four.

_The gardener, Axel Shade, and the butler were the hunters, but I hadn’t seen them until now._

Three.

_There were dangers and monsters in this labyrinth, but nobody knew what they were exactly. I had never seen any of them either._

Two.

_The prisoners had lied; what if everyone was lying?_

One.

_I had the feeling that I was forgetting something._

 

 

Cloudia took a deep breath, the pain in her temples slowly decreasing. When she looked up again, Cloudia froze, unable to do anything else but to stare in horror at this creature, this thing, this person, this _impossibility_ in front of her.

 

 

Zero.

_What if Leon had really seen something behind me?_

_What if_ I _just hadn’t been able to see it?_

 

 

Cloudia’s heart raced in her chest and her vision started to blur when the little girl – the creature, the thing – in front of her mustered her out of dark blue eyes, curious and wondering, for a while before opening her mouth to say, “I am lost, can you help me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess, it's obvious which part I wrote during exam time.
> 
> A while ago, I've started to watch Once Upon a Time properly. (Before, I had only seen S1 whenever it was on TV, half an episode of S3, the complete S4, and am following the current S7. It's messy, I know.) One thing Snow White and Prince Charming always say to each other is "I will always find you" and, well, Cloudia and Cedric are those guys in some ways... Anyway, I've not done it on purpose with Cedric's "I can find the Countess" and have only noticed the similarity/parallel later on. Ah, fun coincidences.
> 
> (Also, I don't know if you've noticed, but I deleted the Untold Stories/Miss Peregrine's School because 1) I wrote it not as well as I wanted and 2) didn't think I would continue it because of that. I've thought about deleting it for a year or so, but couldn't bring myself to do it until now. I hope it's all right.)
> 
> I hope you liked the chapter and let's see when the next (proper) chapter will come...


	28. The Countess, Wrong Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi. It's World Book Day, so here's a chapter :) (And it's not a themed one! But an actual one! Yey!)
> 
>  
> 
> ~~It's made from my tears.~~
> 
>  
> 
> Titles considered:  
> The Countess,...  
> This Chapter, Nonsense  
> Dat Chapter, Trainwreck  
> Dit Chapter, You Wormed Your Way Into My Outline and I Hate Naming You  
> The Countess, Relatable If Tony Stark Dies in Avengers: Infinity Way
> 
> Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this really weird chapter^^

_“There was nothing left to say.”_

* * *

 

 

 

**Countryside, England, United Kingdom – May 1842**

 

**~Barrington~**

 

_When I arrived at the manor and Old Ted told me that Dia was nowhere to be found, I felt like I was twelve years old again. And this feeling only strengthened when I walked through the numerous secret passages and rooms of Phantomhive Manor to find her._

_But back then, I had searched for Si and had not known where to go, what was where._

_And in a way, I still didn’t._

_I had come unannounced, had planned to hold a small surprise party for Dia to celebrate the success of her first case: the defeat of John Francis’ attempt to take Her Majesty the Queen’s life. But Dia was her father’s daughter and loved to hide and be alone. And so, again, I had to search for a Phantomhive._

_I doubted that it would ever stop, was certain that I would walk after them for the rest of my life. I didn’t mind._

_After all, my life revolved around them ever since Genevieve had invited me to Phantomhive Manor all those years ago._

_Genevieve Phantomhive had been a wonderful woman. Strong and intelligent, the Phantomhive household’s iron lady, a mother who had loved her son more than anything else. And despite the fact that her husband Percival had barely been there, Genevieve had never stopped to love him unconditionally._

_Due to Percival’s constant absence, Genevieve had raised Simon mostly on her own and had done so with a lot of patience and love. And you needed a lot of patience when it came to Simon. Si who had been so anxious, had been so shy and insecure. But despite anything, Si had the remarkable talent to learn things thoroughly as long as he was alone and received the time he needed. Even if he did not enjoy what he was doing._

_And so, it had come that he had managed to beat me in a swordsmanship competition, ridiculing me in front of everybody. And so it had come that Genevieve being Genevieve had invited me to Phantomhive Manor right afterwards – not because she had wanted to laugh at me, but because she had genuinely hoped that I might manage to befriend her son._

_And what had followed had been a friendship filled with searches, secret passages, and burdens. Burdens we had carried together; burdens we had faced all alone._

 

 

Barrington navigated through the familiar corridors, smiling sadly when the memories of the time he had spent here with Simon returned. How often had he followed his friend to these corridors? How long had it taken until he had not come to get him but to join him? To hide with him from the world?

Barrington sighed at his memories.

 

 

_My life was marked by failures; my friendship with Simon had started and ended with failure, and so had many other things in my life._

_Therefore, I had sworn to make everything right with Dia. I did not want to fail another Phantomhive; I did not want to fail another person who meant so much to me. But my oath had crumbled so quickly, so easily. First, the system, then, the slow, gradual alienation._

_I had no idea what had happened, did not think that Dia had noticed that I had, but I had the feeling that it was all_ her _doing. But I also knew that it was mine too. Because, as it seemed, all I could do was fail._

 

 

An hour passed and Cloudia was still unfindable, but Barrington did not panic and just kept on going. She was here somewhere. He knew it; he would find her.

And while he walked and searched, looked and wandered, Barrington eventually noticed where his feet were carrying him: to Simon’s favourite hidden room. With a faint smile and memories filling his mind, Barrington approached the room.

 

 

_The last time, I had gone there had been on the day of Si’s funeral. After it had ended, I had sneaked into this room which had always felt more like Simon than his own bedroom._

_But when I had entered it on that day, the room, which had always been stuffed with paper and pens and all sorts of things, had been empty. Afterwards, I had never been able to ask Penelope where she had put the things – the things which had been here, once upon a time, when the sky had been bluer than it was now._

 

 

When Barrington opened the door, it was almost as if he was looking into the past – a room covered in paper, a Phantomhive in its centre – but instead of scribbles, the papers were filled with notes or were parts from newspapers, and instead of being met by green eyes, he was met by blue ones when Cloudia turned around, a pencil in her hand and surprise painted on her face.

 

 

_Oh, my dear girl._

 

 

***

 

 

**Somewhere, England, United Kingdom – April 1848**

 

**~Cloudia~**

 

 

_Ever since I could remember, there was a labyrinth in the garden of Phantomhive Manor._

 

 

***

 

 

_Upon seeing the little girl with the dark blue eyes, I closed my eyes, counted from ten downwards again, and pinched myself – and I wondered what I preferred: having become insane or the girl being real._

_When I reopened my eyes, the little girl still stood in front of me, and I knew for certain that I was not imagining it, that I was not dreaming all this – and fear and panic found their ways to me and crept among my thoughts._

 

 

“You don’t look good,” the little girl with the dark blue eyes said. “One time my cousin ate dirt. I don’t know why but she did it. It was gross, and she looked just like you.”

Slowly, Cloudia stood up, not taking another look at the creature which should not be.

“Did you eat something wrong?”

Cloudia turned around and started to walk away. The girl just followed her. “Do you know where you are going?” she asked.

 

 

_Go away._

 

 

“I am afraid,” the blue-eyed girl said. “Are you afraid?”

Cloudia quickened her steps.

“I don’t like it here. Walls are everywhere,” she continued to say. “It’s so stuffed. How are you?”

 

 

_Please stop talking._

 

 

“My cousin’s papa – not the cousin who ate dirt – has a hairy face. It looks funny. What do you…” Cloudia didn’t hear the rest of the little girl’s words as she broke into a run.

 

 

_To hell with my headaches. To hell with my tired body._

_I only wanted to get away._

 

 

Cloudia ran as fast as she could, getting away from the girl her only aim, the only thing to make her push her weary body farther, farther, _farther_. She turned around corner after corner, sprinted through corridor after corridor until her lungs began to ache – and even then, she kept on for a little bit longer before slowing down. Still walking quickly, Cloudia finally allowed herself to look over her shoulder to see if the girl with the dark blue eyes – the impossible monster – had somehow followed her, but there was nothing behind her but rows and rows of walls made of grey stone.

For a moment, relief tricked her into halting, but Cloudia pushed herself to keep on walking. She turned her gaze back to the front and–

“…think is funny?” continued the little girl her question from earlier as if nothing had happened, as if Cloudia had never moved.

 

 

***

 

 

_But that labyrinth was not like this one._

 

 

***

 

 

_I knew what she was, but I did not know how she came to be._

_She was a monster wearing a face which could not be hers, speaking with a voice which did not belong to her. Both face and voice were part of the past, things having long turned into memories – only there to be re-watched, impossible to re-enter._

_Still, she had managed to steal them._

 

 

The little girl with the dark blue eyes kept on talking.

And talking and talking.

She never stopped; she spoke about how she didn’t like this place, how she liked this and that, how she wanted to go home, how she was lost, and how her cousin – one of many – once got lost in the woods, tripped while trying to return and lost a piece of his tooth.

 

 

_She was driving me insane – more and more with every word she spoke._

_But wasn’t I already insane? She could not be – she couldn’t, she couldn’t – and still, I could see her, hear her, feel her presence. But every time, I tried to touch her, she moved away._

_And she kept on talking and talking and talking…_

 

 

“Do you want to make a pause? You don’t look okay; I think you should sit down,” the blue-eyed girl proposed.

 

 

_I was not looking fine because you were driving me crazy. Because you shouldn’t be here and haunt me. Because I shouldn’t let you haunt me._

_But you did._

_With every word that left your mouth, with every word that you voiced, you pulled at my sanity, at the remnants of it._

_Part of me let you drag me down, but another kept on pushing on – and pushing you away._

_And I hoped and hoped and wished that this part would win and you would vanish, but no matter what I did, what I tried, what I said, you stayed and kept on speaking and speaking with no pause and end._

 

 

***

 

 

_It was not made of grey and stone but of hedges and flowers._

 

 

***

 

 

_The girl’s words started to echo through my head, beating alongside my headache._

_There was nothing else in this maze except her and me – no sound, no change, no other monsters, no other humans. But monsters – this monster here with me – wore a human’s face, and humans could wear a monster’s face; and I wondered if the little girl with the blue eyes had chosen a different face to wear, one I didn’t know, would I have known that she was a monster and not a girl?_

 

 

“I like fairy tales,” the girl chanted. “They are full of magic. It can’t be, I know. I always knew, but I met magic. I saw magic. I don’t know if it’s called magic, but I think of it as that.”

She looked up at Cloudia. “My one cousin – not the one whose papa’s face is hairy, not the one who ate dirt, not the one with the chipped tooth – knows so many first and last sentences of fairy tales. ‘ _A king and queen once upon a time reigned in a country a great way off, where there were in those days fairies._ _–_ _And then the prince and Briar Rose were married, and the wedding feast was given; and they lived happily together all their lives long._ ’ This the beginning and end of _Briar Rose_! I like this tale, but it is not my favourite.”

 

 

_And how did I know that I was a girl and not a monster?_

 

 

***

 

 

_Once upon a time, I had been bound to Phantomhive Manor. I still was, but, back then, it had been different._

 

 

***

 

 

“Are you happy?” the little girl wanted to know. “I doubt you are. How can you be happy if you are in a place like this? I doubt anyone can be happy in a place like this. This maze is odd, oh, so odd. There is nowhere to go even if you keep on walking. Are you happy?”

 

 

_Was I?_

_Lately, I had definitely not been happy. I had been rolled over by Teddy’s death and the anniversary, by my own failure and now this charade. There had been no time to be happy in this grief._

 

 

“What was the last thing you enjoyed? Did you enjoy killing Maven von Brandt?”

 

 

_Did I?_

 

 

“I think you did – oh, take care! There’s a corner, ahead! Not that you run against a wall! This reminds me of that one time…”

 

 

***

 

 

_Back then, I would always try to run. I would always hide. And sometimes, I would run into the labyrinth and hide there._

 

 

***

 

 

“What brought you here?” The girl walked ahead of her, walked backwards so that she could face her. “What do you think brought you here?”

 

 

_I did not know what she meant. I could not think. My head was filled with her stolen voice, her never-ending speech. There was no room for my own thoughts; all I could concentrate on were the words coming out of her mouth._

_And nothing else. And nothing else._

 

 

“People always follow paths. Sometimes, they have to choose whether they want to go left or right when they arrive at a junction. I don’t think you can turn and walk back the way from which you’ve come. Where did you choose so unwisely to get to a place like this today?”

 

 

_I did not want to walk anymore. I had never been so tired before. I didn’t care about choosing or turning. I only wanted to stand here for a while to rest my soul and bones, but I couldn’t._

_I had to keep on walking – and walking and walking. I did not know where to go, where my feet would carry me. If there was even somewhere to go or if I would remain here for ever and ever with this girl and monster as my only companion._

 

 

“It is okay to decide to make a pause,” the blue-eyed girl sang. “Or, if you don’t want to rest, you can just step into a new line and hope that this one’s calmer. It is all right to leave the path on which you were walking. You weren’t good at it anyway. If you were, you wouldn’t be here today, would you? It’s fine, you don’t have to be good at everything. Or anything, even.

“You are not looking well. How are you feeling today?”

 

 

***

 

 

_I would go there to read, to be by myself. I would go there to escape or just for the sake of running._

 

 

***

 

 

_My mind and limbs were heavy. I was wearing down. I kept on walking, but it seemed that I was seeing the same walls, following the same route. It seemed as if I was walking in circles, and it was wearing me down._

_I did not know how much time had passed. Since I had come here. Since I had woken up here. Since Leon had run away._

_I wondered what he had seen. He couldn’t have seen the little girl – that was all I knew._

_It must be night now; it should be night now. But the sky was still grey._

_How long was I awake? I wished that I was just dreaming, dreaming…_

_… but I wasn’t and this shadow of a girl kept on speaking._

_And this shadow of me kept on listening. To her words, to her song. To the truth woven into them, and to the lies woven into truths._

 

 

***

 

 

_For a long time, in the beginning, when I had first started going into the maze, I would always get lost._

 

 

***

 

 

_Whenever a headache grew too strong and I lost my grip on what was around me, it felt like I was pulled down an ocean and, no matter how much I struggled to return to the surface, I would continue sinking, knowing that all was in vain and that there was nothing I could do._

_It felt like I had been buried under snow, trying to dig myself out even if my hands and arms and legs were already frozen. And I would only stop moving when I could not even feel the cold anymore._

_It felt like I had fallen into a hole or well which was impossible to climb out of. But I would still try it, try it until my hands were bloody, try it until I fell and was unable to get back again._

_And every time, I was all alone. Every time, I would scream and cry, but there was nobody who could hear me. Nobody who could help me. And every time, I stopped fighting, I stopped screaming as well._

_On the bottom of the ocean, beneath the thick snow, stuck in a well, there was nothing but me and my thoughts._

_And soon, I was trapped in them as well._

 

 

***

 

 

_It did not take long until someone noticed I was gone. However, there was only ever one who would come and find me._

 

 

***

 

 

_The blue-eyed little girl continued speaking, and reddened waves called to me._

_She was right. I was not good at what I was doing. Because I had failed, Manon was still breathing – breathing and laughing, laughing at me from her throne high above in her castle – and she had been able to continue torturing and killing innocent people. So many had died because of me. Because there was nothing I could do right._

_I was not suitable, was sheer incapable to follow this path any longer._

_I began walking into the ocean._

 

 

***

 

 

_He was always there for me, and I wondered if, sometimes, in some ways, I had also been there for him._

 

 

***

 

 

_And with every step I made, the shadows around me, the shadows on the walls, took on shapes and started to speak to me – started to call me towards them to the bottom of the ocean with their sing-song voices._

 

 

“If you go there, I think, I won’t be lost anymore,” said the girl with the dark blue eyes.

“You don’t have to be scared,” said the old man.

“I am here to strengthen you,” said the sad-eyed man.

“I am here to hold you,” said the boy with raven hair.

“You could have been more,” said the monster.

“I will watch out for you,” said the woman in black.

“Who even cares for you?” said the woman behind the veil.

“Let us go together,” said the man.

 

 

_The air did not sound; the sea did not ring out. But there was an ocean, I knew, and its water clung to me and made me heavy and pulled me down._

 

 

“I will wait for you there,” said the man, the last man, with the odd eyes and odd hair.

 

“If you go there, I think, I won’t be lost anymore.”

“You don’t have to be scared.”

“I am here to strengthen you.”

“I am here to hold you.”

“You could have been more.”

“I will watch out for you.”

“Who even cares for you?”

“Let us go together.”

 

“I will wait for you there, I will…”

 

 

_I pressed my hands to my ears and stopped walking, the red waves tearing at me, the shadows still calling me._

 

 

 _“Go away,”_ Cloudia wanted to say, but when she tried, no sound came out.

“You don’t have to be scared.”

 _“Go away,”_ she tried again, but it still didn’t work.

“Let us go together.”

 _“GO AWAY,”_ she repeated, putting all her force into the words, but there was still nothing.

“I will wait for you there.”

 

***

 

 

_But he was not always able to come, so I had to find a way out myself._

 

 

***

 

 

_The words got caught in my throat when I tried to speak._

_There was nowhere to go._

_My ears rang, and I was alone with the voices in my head._

_I was drowning again, and nobody could save me._

_The pressure inside of me paralysed me, the voices encaged me, and my soul felt so heavy, and I was burning. Was heading straight into the waters to extinguish the fire._

_Agony filled my head and body and soul. I was shattering, falling apart. There was nothing which could unravel my thoughts, and I was igniting from within._

_I came to a halt – and when I stopped, I heard something which was not the little girl’s stolen voice, anyone’s stolen voice._

 

 

***

 

 

_The labyrinth in Phantomhive Manor’s garden was made of hedges and flowers, and every autumn, the leaves would change their colour and the flowers would fade away._

 

 

***

 

 

_It took me a while to realise that I had fallen onto the ground._

_I was lying on my back, my eyes fixed on the never-changing grey sky, my right arm holding my left._

_My ears rang and my body should hurt from the fall, but I did not feel anything. I only felt like I was burning from the inside of my numb body._

_I didn’t understand what had happened. How had I been able to hear anything within these walls? What was the thing I had heard? A new voice? A cry? A scream? Or something completely different?_

 

 

“Can you hear me?” asked the little girl with the dark blue eyes when the shadows gathered around Cloudia, watching her lying on the ground from above.

“You suddenly collapsed to the ground. Are you fine? You scared me. You should not scare me. That’s not nice. It’s so scary already.”

 

 

_I was so tired._

_I had been tired for so long now, but now, the little bit of energy I had left seemed to vanish faster than it had before – leaving me bit for bit with every breath I took._

 

 

“I can understand,” the little girl told her. “I am so tired as well…”

 

 

***

 

 

_And eventually, the leaves would fall._

 

 

***

 

 

_My eyes threatened to flutter closed; I couldn’t keep them open anymore._

 

 

“It is all right; it is all right,” the monsters sang around her and outstretched their hands. “Come with us; we will keep you safe. We know a place far away, a city of eternal rest…”

 

 

_All the other times, I had kept on fighting until I couldn’t anymore and beyond._

 

 

“You don’t have to be scared,” said the old man, his gaze far away and his words void of warmth.

“I am here to strengthen you,” said the sad-eyed man without any joy.

“I am here to hold you,” said the boy with the raven hair and stepped aside.

“Who even cares for you?” said the woman behind the veil and turned away.

The man knelt down next to her. “Let us go together,” he said without any softness and when he smiled, he did it without his usual sincerity.

“If you go there, I think, I won’t be lost anymore,” said the little girl who was not little anymore, but her eyes were still the same dark blue. “I think we won’t be lost anymore. I think we won’t be tired anymore.”

“You should go,” said a new shadow, a shadow with no face. “You have failed and your time has come to go.”

 

 

***

 

 

_Without the leaves, all the walls of the labyrinth were bare and all passages visible._

 

 

***

 

 

“I will wait for you there,” said the man, the last man. “Your time has come to follow me to the city where I have my throne.”

 

 

_For a short, short moment, my eyes closed, but I dug my fingers into my arm and my mouth opened to cry out but no sound came out again._

_I had to stay awake; I had to stay awake._

_I had kept this up for so long now; this could not be the end now. This could not be my end now._

 

 

“But isn’t it easier to follow me?” said the odd-eyed man. “You fought for so long. You deserve to follow an easier way now.”

 

 

_No._

_This was not the right way._

 

 

“But, tell me – which one is the right one then?”

 

 

_I had no idea._

 

 

“Then, how do you know that I am wrong?”

 

 

***

 

 

_The labyrinth had lost its essence._

 

 

***

 

 

_No matter how deep I dug my fingers, I felt no pain to keep me awake. And I had become accustomed to the pain in my head and the fire burning in my bones._

_It was inevitable. I was about to drift away._

_To drift away to the bottom of the ocean._

_To sink deeper into the snow beneath me._

_To be caught in the shadows residing in the well._

_I kept falling down; I kept falling down._

_I was collapsing under the weight of my soul and kept on falling down, down and down…_

_Kept falling down into a darkness which did not come. Whose arrival was swallowed by a familiar green light and the start of the same old, broken record._

_But in this moment, in this fracture of a second, in this gap between those two hells when my vision was blurry and the world gave away to the record, I glimpsed at an oddity: at a world where the walls and the monster girl were not there, where none of the monsters were, where the sky was not grey and where there were sound and a castle in the distance._

 

 

***

 

 

_And what seemed so scary and impossible to conquer before didn’t seem scary or impossible anymore._

 

 

***

 

 

_The realisation came with the surprise and intensity of rocks thrown through a window. But, finally, I knew. Knew what monsters they had meant, knew why they called Manon a witch._

_Finally, I could see what was right in front of me – and I held onto this clarity, never letting go, and woke up._

 

 

***

 

 

With the clouds gone from her vision, the sky was a spectacle of brilliant red and orange giving away to an intense blue, and the soft rain strengthened the colours and set the sky ablaze.

Groaning, Cloudia sat up and pain ran through her body, but this time, it came from her left arm which she had been clutching for so long now. Now, she took her hand away and examined the wound, blood dripping from the torn open wound and mixing with the rain. For a moment, Cloudia closed her eyes and held her face up to the sky, letting the rain fall onto her and listening to its gentle tip-tap on her skin and the ground. She breathed in the clean air to cool herself down, but her body kept on burning.

When Cloudia opened her eyes again, she looked right into a rifle barrel.

“I think you shouldn’t fire this from this range,” Cloudia told him sleepily, and Axel Shade laughed.

“You’re awake? Nobody ever woke up. How impressive, Lady Cloudia,” he spat out before bracing the rifle back against his shoulder.

“I thought you weren’t allowed to kill me,” Cloudia pointed out.

He grinned. “Oh, don’t worry, it’s only a tranquiliser. Aren’t you a lucky girl? You would have been long dead if I had a say in–”

Before Axel could finish his sentence, Cloudia’s right arm shot forward and her fingers tightened on the rifle while she kicked Axel as hard as she could between the legs. He let out a scream and his grip on the weapon loosened, allowing Cloudia to press it hard against his shoulder, making him stumble back and lose his grip completely. Much to her luck, Axel was still preoccupied with the agony between his legs, and even though Cloudia was only able to stand up slowly, she was quicker back on her feet than Axel had recovered from the attack.

Axel, as soon as his pain had lessened, threw himself at her. He managed to hit the wound on her arm, making her wince in pain before Cloudia hit him in the face with the rifle’s butt plate. He stumbled back, and she hit him again, making him fall down hard to the ground, unconscious.

Panting, Cloudia stood over Axel’s unmoving body before she sank to her knees. She put the rifle down and bit down on her lip while she ripped apart a piece of her threadbare dress and knotted it around her injured arm.

 

 

_What now?_

 

 

Cloudia let her gaze wander through the now-empty courtyard, her head and heart still heavy. The castle was about 200 metres away, the door to the dungeon still open as always. She narrowed her eyes. The rain had washed most of it away, but there was undoubtedly a bloody line leading to the castle. It did not lead to the dungeon door, though, but to a wall – or, to be exact, another hidden door.

 

 

_Apparently, Leon had already been caught._

 

 

Blinking away her blurring vision, Cloudia examined the rifle and realised only now that it looked like nothing she had ever seen before. Then, she went through Axel’s clothes, finding a bag of darts for the odd rifle and a gun, presumably the one with which he had shot her. Cloudia tucked the gun away and took one of the nine darts out of the bag and rammed it into Axel’s leg for safety measures. When she was done, she put the bag of darts away too and picked up the rifle before standing up and moving towards the dungeon door.

 

 

_My head hurt, my vision blurred, my ears rang – and I was burning from the inside out. But I was so close to the Witch’s Castle now, so close to take back what was mine and ruin this place. To wrap this up and get back home._

 

 

The rain kept falling while the blue slowly and gradually won over the fire which had spread over the sky – but the fire inside of her did not want to be extinguished. Instead, her body kept heating up.

 

 

_I had to keep on going. I had to keep on going. I had to keep on going–_

_I couldn’t give up now._

_I could not die here in this hellhole. Not when I was so close. Not ever._

_I was Cloudia Phantomhive,_ and I would not die today _. But still, it felt like I would._

_I had to keep on going. Even if my body would never stop burning, I had to keep on going._

_I was so close to the castle now. Only a few more steps. But the light above was so bright and the rain so loud…_

_I was right in front of the door, only had to take one more step to get inside…_

_And then, from the corner of my eye, I saw movement before I heard a voice – male, but not quite – and_

 

 

_[White Space]_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First: No, I didn't forget adding the end. :)  
> Second: You have no idea how often I changed these last two words.
> 
> This chapter is based on the wonderful song "Nothing Left to Say/Rocks" by Imagine Dragons. You may or may not have noticed the blatant lyric rip-offs here and there.
> 
> _I’ve come too far to see the end now_   
>  _Even if my way is wrong_   
>  _But I keep pushing on and on and on and on_
> 
> Some stuff (a little, little bit) is from "The City in the Sea/The City of Sin/The Doomed City" (this poem went through a lot of name changes) by Edgar Allan Poe.
> 
> I hope you liked this chapter and thank you for all the kudos and comments^^ I hate replying to comments here because a creator's reply comments are counted as comments nevertheless, making it seem like sth has more comments than it actually has. (Does this make sense?) But I am always happy (and quite giggly) when reading any comments or just seeing a new kudo^^
> 
> Anyway, until sometime^^


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